Smooth Criminal
by Erotillectual
Summary: An elusive, possessive thief with a dark side that runs deep. An FBI agent on a quest for answers that explain the mysterious bond they share. A web of manipulation and deceit extending far beyond the two of them. In a word, fireworks. AH, mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** I wasn't kidding when I said Edward had a dark side, in the summary. People have different ideas of what constitutes dark, and I have seen darkwards that make mine look like a youth minister at bible camp (uh...bad example?) but he's _**dark**_. The possessive, controlling, domineering Edward that makes us swoon in fanfic would have us calling the cops in real life - that's the kind of darkness I'm trying to convey.

There will also be the occasional lemon, and some content that might be disturbing (I will remember to post warnings). The M rating will be deserved.

**Disclaimer: **I neither own, nor did I create the characters and concepts of the _Twilight _Saga. They are the sole creation and property of Stephenie Meyer. And unlike most people, I DON'T wish I owned them. I DO wish I had an original idea and characters of my own, though.

* * *

**Smooth Criminal**

* * *

The rich, smooth tones of Ella Fitzgerald drew me slowly out of the most restful, untroubled sleep I'd had in a long while.

_Summertime and the living is easy, _she sang languidly.

I snuggled deeper into the soft, lavender-scented sheets, humming contentedly.

_Fish are jumping _

I cracked open one eye and slammed it shut with a grunt, painfully blinded by the morning sunlight glaring off the white floorboards.

_and the cotton is high_

It took a few more seconds for me to realize that Ella Fitzgerald shouldn't currently be singing in my bedroom, and if there was music playing, it must be my cell phone.

_Oh your daddy's rich _

It was someone's ringtone. Someone important. I wracked my sleep-addled brain.

_and your ma is good looking_

The answer rose slowly into consciousness. It was my partner and mentor Jasper Whitlock's ringtone.

_So hush little baby_

After our last encounter, he knew better than to call me unless it was really, really important. I rolled on to my back, twisting my legs up in the bed sheets in the process. My eyes still squeezed shut I reached blindly for my phone, almost knocking it off the night table.

_Don't you cr-_

Ella's mellow voice was cut off when I flipped my phone open and held it to my ear. "You'd better have a damn good reason..." I slurred, still half asleep.

"_Masen's escaped_," he interrupted me, his voice grim.

"What?" I shrieked, coming awake suddenly and lunging upright. "How?" I swung my legs to the floor and stood, but the sheets were tangled around my legs and I tripped as soon as I tried to take a step. As the floorboards rushed toward me, I let go of my phone and put out my hands to stop myself from falling on my face. My cell skittered across the floor and cracked against the baseboard and I landed with a thud and a groan, banging my knee painfully and quickly limp-crawling out of the bedding on all fours to retrieve it.

"Jazz?"

"_What the hell was that_?"

"I tried to get out of bed and fell," I explained sheepishly, rubbing my right knee. Sitting on the floor, I leaned back against the wall and pulled up my leg, inspecting it for damage. My knee was going to be sporting one hell of a bruise tomorrow.

Jasper snorted. "_Only you_," he said, fond amusement coloring his tone.

_You don't know the half of it. _I'd gone to bed naked the night before, and must have presented quite a visual, falling forward with my legs swallowed up in bed sheets, arms flailing, only to land on the floor with my bare ass up in the air. "Yes, well enough about me," I said briskly, feeling my cheeks heat up a little. I headed for the bathroom and turned on the shower, firing questions at him without giving him a chance to answer.

"What the hell happened? How did he escape? Why the hell would he do something so idiotic?" I was starting to rant, pacing back and forth in front of the vanity. Edward Masen had been lucky – he had received a sentence that amounted to a slap on the wrist, and was up for parole in just a few months. This stunt could add years to his sentence, and I couldn't understand what motivate his escape. "The judge is going to throw the book at him this time. Dammit, how could he be so…so…criminally stupid?"

I finally paused, to deafening silence on the other end of the line.

I stopped pacing. "Jasper? Are you still there?"

His voice, when it finally came…well, let's just say that I had never heard Jasper speak to me in what would from that point on become known as his "military voice". I could practically feel myself standing up straighter.

"_Bella, I am done pussy-footin' around with you. I want to know what's going on with you, and you're not getting out of telling me this time. You were full of fire when I took you on, and I want to know where the Hell it went. I want to know why you let things get so bad that you were forced to take annual leave, I want to know why you still haven't come to me with any of it, and more than anything else, I want to know what the deal is with you and Masen. Now start talking_."

"I feel like I should salute you or something, Major," I quipped.

He would not be deflected this time, and ignored my attempt at humor. "_I'm waiting_," he said, clearly not amused.

I sighed, digging through my toilet bag with one hand and pulling out the things I would need for my shower. "Jasper, can we just talk about this later?"

You could almost hear him rubbing a hand over his face. "_Bella_…" he started wearily.

I interrupted him. "I'm not trying to get out of answering you!" I cried. "Not this time. I just want to take a shower and get back on the road. We can talk when I get home, ok?" I injected a pleading note in my voice. For some strange reason, Jasper had a problem resisting my pleading. It was his kryptonite.

Unfortunately, it didn't work this time. "_Whoa. Hold up there, honey. You're not coming back. You're on leave, remember?"_

I was absolutely speechless for a moment. "You can't be serious," I cried as soon as I'd found my voice again. "Jasper, it's my case!"

He put me right back in my place. "_It's _our_ case, Bella, and _I_ am the lead investigator on it."_

"But…but…you _need_ me!" I sputtered. "I'm the Edward Masen expert! No one knows him like I do!" I tried to modulate my tone to sound less frantic, but it was too late. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and my eyes were wide and crazed. No wonder Boss had sent me packing for a month. I really _was_ losing it.

There was another loaded silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was very serious. "_Bella, are you hearing yourself? You're coming unglued. You have a very promising career, and you're putting it in jeopardy. I want to know what it is about Masen that has you tied up in knots, and I want to know _now_._"

"Jasper, I…I don't want to talk about this over the phone. I'll tell you about it when I see you again." There. That should buy me some time. One month to be exact.

He sighed. "_Ok, we'll talk next time I see you._"

_Yes!_ "Thanks, Jazz," I said, feeling light-headed with relief. It still didn't solve the problem of how I was going to explain my almost preternatural connection with Edward Masen, but at least it would give me time to come up with a plausible story.

My relief was short lived. His tone, when he spoke again, was smug. "_You're welcome. I'll be there in an hour..._"

The phone slipped from my nerveless fingers landing on the bath mat with a soft thud. Unaware, Jasper kept talking, although I couldn't hear his words as I scrambled to pick up my phone again.

"…_That'll be our first order of business, you hear_?"

My knees went weak. "I'm sorry, did you say an hour?" I quavered, closing the toilet lid and sitting down. "Where the hell are you? How did you know where to find me?"

"_Yes I did, in my truck, and I called Emmett. You may be off the case for now, but you're right, you are the Masen expert. I'd be a fool not to consult you. __But first you're going to tell me what's been eating at you; you're not getting out of that. Oh, and Bella? That pleading thing with the doe eyes that you do? It's not going to work this time. I won't accept anything but the complete truth from you. _

"Yes, _Sir_," I muttered, disguising my panic with sarcasm.

Jasper, having gotten his point across, was all Southern Charm again and simply chuckled. "_All right, I'll see you in sixty._"

"Yeah," I said with zero enthusiasm, stabbing my finger at the disconnect button.

I put the phone down and chewed on my thumbnail, thinking quickly. How could I possibly tell him the whole truth about Edward Masen and me? And yet, how could I avoid it? Jasper was a renowned psychologist so attuned to body language and facial expression that he was practically an empath; I didn't have a snowball's hope in hell of placating him with half-truths. Damn, maybe I should have done this on the phone after all. I would've stood a better chance of fooling him and getting away with it.

My heart sank as I remembered his last words to me before I left on my imposed vacation. Jasper had made it very clear that my partnership with him was in jeopardy, and the conversation we'd just had told me he wasn't going to let it go, which frankly I should have expected. I had stretched the boundaries of his goodwill about as far as they would go; he was obviously at the end of his patience.

Well, there was nothing I could do about it now. Fate was barreling toward me in a pick-up truck; all I could do was to shake off my blue funk and gird myself against the unpleasantness ahead. I squeezed toothpaste on my toothbrush and stuck it in my mouth, stepping under the stream of hot water and tipping my head under the spray to wet my hair. My mind was going in circles as I vigorously brushed my teeth, remembering my last face-to-face encounter with Jasper, just a few days ago.

* * *

After a boring morning of playing solitaire on my computer instead of working on my backlog of paperwork, I was summoned to the Assistant Director's office. It came as a shock to me, which was ridiculous; it was clear that Jasper and the AD, affectionately nicknamed "Boss", had both noticed that I hadn't been myself for quite some time. I had however hoped to delay the inevitable long enough to get my head straightened out myself, without their well-meaning interference.

It looked like my time had just run out. The moment I'd been dreading had arrived. Sighing, I closed my browser window and stood, heading slowly to the Assistant Director's office.

I didn't know exactly what was coming, but I knew it wouldn't be pleasant. After the high of chasing (metaphorically speaking), arresting, and putting Edward Masen in jail had waned, I suddenly found myself with absolutely no purpose in my life. I had very few friends, besides Jasper, to fill the hours left empty now that Edward was finally behind bars. Never totally invested in my other cases to begin with, I'd completely lost interest after the Masen case had been closed. I started coming in late, my reports were sloppy, and my work suffered.

Jasper grew suspicious, then worried. I caught him watching me often, and he never bothered to hide it. It made me nervous. Eventually he tried to talk to me about it, but I always changed the subject or deflected his attention on to something else, and so far he had let me get away with it. I had a feeling that my good luck in that regard wasn't going to last much longer.

I knocked softly on the Assistant Director's door, waited a beat, and then let myself in. To my surprise Jasper was there, leaning against one of the filing cabinets with his arms crossed over his chest. He made no move to leave, a fact that didn't reassure me.

"Hey Boss, you needed to see me?" I said, pleased to hear how steady and professional my voice sounded.

"Sit down," he said kindly, indicating one of the chairs in front of his desk.

I took a seat, smoothing my skirt, trying to keep my hands occupied as I waited for the axe to fall.

"I'm going to get right to the point, Bella," he started, looking me over the top of his glasses. "Jasper and I have been talking," - I shot my partner a dirty look which her returned with an impassive one, one of his eyebrows slightly raised - "and _I_ have decided to make you take a vacation." I noticed the emphasis on the "_I"__ - _he must have caught the look I'd given Jasper. "You have six weeks accumulated leave, and you are taking four of them."

_No. No way_. I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued speaking, ignoring me. "It hasn't escaped my notice that your heart isn't in the job anymore. I'm not going to ask you what's going on - although I am pretty sure your partner won't be as accommodating - but you're going to take some time to get your head straight. You can't go on like this. You haven't taken a single day since you started. You worked tirelessly on the Masen case, and I think you need a break. I'm going to see to it that you take one, whether you like it or not."

That's what I loved about Boss...he didn't ask for explanations, or try to get into my head and find out what was wrong with me. He was a man of few words, and he wasn't one to pry. Not right away, anyway. That would come later, if I returned from my enforced vacation with the same attitude of disinterest in my job.

Nevertheless, I was completely humiliated. I'd always prided myself on putting my best effort into anything I undertook. Everything I had done most of my adult life had been geared toward getting to the FBI, and I had dreamed of it for a lot longer than that, all through high school to be exact.

Ever since I had found out that Edward Masen actually existed, and was not just a product of my over-active imagination.

I had no desire to argue with Boss, just wanting to get out of his office and back into mine so I could fall apart in privacy. "Fine," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the fact that I could feel my eyes starting to burn, a precursor to tears. Standing, I kept my face averted from Jasper and turned away just in the nick of time. My eyes welled up as I left the room, walking swiftly to the space I shared with him and shutting the door behind me.

I was a mess, and though upset about being forced to go on leave, I couldn't disagree with the AD's actions. I would probably have done the same thing if I'd been in his shoes. He'd cut me more slack than I had the right to expect, but even his patience had an end. With a shaky sigh, I turned away from the door and walked to the window, staring sightlessly at the skyline, fat tears spilling over and running down my cheeks.

When Jasper's gentle hands closed over my shoulders, I jumped. I hadn't heard him coming in behind me.

"I think it's time you told me what is going on, Bella," he said softly, "and don't insult my intelligence again by telling me it's nothing."

I didn't say anything, trying to discretely wipe the tears off my face, but Jasper turned me around to face him. I resisted just enough to let him know I didn't want to turn around but he overrode me, using gentle force to get me to comply. I stared straight ahead at his sternum, studiously avoiding looking him in the eyes. When his fingers touched my chin - his attempt to get me to look at him - I pulled my head to the side, staring at the wall over my desk through blurred eyes.

He released me with a sigh. "All right," he said tiredly as I turned away from him and headed to my desk to tidy up in preparation for my month long exile. "Let me tell you what I know for a fact. When we arrested Masen, he _recognized_ you." He held up his hand when I opened my mouth to deny it. "Don't," he said sharply, holding up his hand to stop me. "I saw his face, Bella. And for the record, I saw yours too. You've had an unhealthy obsession with him for as long as I have known you, and I suspect you've had it for a lot longer than that - leave that." He interrupted himself when I started shoving my copy of the Masen file into my briefcase. "You're on vacation, and that case is closed."

I pulled the file back out and slapped it on my desk with a little more force than I had intended, still not looking at Jasper. I shouldn't have been surprised that he'd noticed as much as he had, and was afraid he would read a lot more than I wanted him to in my face.

"There is something between the two of you," he continued. "Now, I know your personal life is your business, but when it starts impacting your job, it becomes my business too. Whatever it is, I can tell it's big. It's important to you, and therefore it's important to me. But unless you let me in and tell me what it is and why it's affecting you so, I'm not sure we can work together anymore."

I froze in shock at his words. It felt like my heart had been ripped out. I had always looked up to Jasper and admired him, and it pained me deeply to disappoint him so badly. My eyes filled up again, and I had to bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. The silence grew as he waited for me to comment on what he'd said, which of course I didn't. I couldn't.

He sighed again, and then I heard the door open. "Bella?" This time he waited so long, I had no choice but to look at him. His expression was angry, hurt, and resigned, and my heart broke a little more. In addition to being my mentor and partner, Jasper was also my best friend, and it killed me to shut him out like this. "I'm letting this go for now because clearly you don't trust me enough to let me in, but we will be having this conversation before you start working with me again." He didn't ask what I was going to do with my time off, or say goodbye. He just turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

When I heard the soft _snick_ of the latch engaging, I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed.

* * *

Shaking off that most unpleasant memory, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my hair in a towel, throwing on a robe as I walked out of the bathroom. If I was going to have any hope of withstanding a talk with my partner, coffee would be essential, and lots of it. I pushed my feet into some flip-flops and headed downstairs into the cool, cavernous darkness of the shuttered house.

I'd arrived late yesterday, and had gone straight upstairs shortly after unloading the car, without opening the shutters. After the blinding sunlit whiteness of my sanctuary under the eaves, my eyes needed to adjust to the blackness. Stepping into the hallway, I felt my way carefully toward the entryway. The massive wooden front door opened with an audible groan, laying a patch of sunlight on the polished stone floor, and a balmy late spring breeze rushed in, chasing away the musty air born of months of disuse.

It was a beautiful day.

In the kitchen, I unpacked my Java accessories, filling the espresso pot with coffee and water. I screwed the top on and put it on the stove over a low flame, along with some milk. Only once this most important ritual was underway did I move through the house, my flip-flops slapping against my heels as I walked, opening windows and throwing the shutters wide. By the time the house was open and airing out, the sputtering of my espresso finishing up drew me back to the kitchen, to find the milk on the verge of boiling over. I snatched it off the stove, and quickly churned the hot milk to foam it, assembling my cappuccino in a large mug. A sprinkle of sugar and cinnamon on top, and I was ready to sit for a spell before getting to work on unpacking the rest of my stuff.

The screened-in porch was bare, the furniture being stored in the small bunkhouse off in the trees – Emmett's former teenage lair, taken possession of by him when I staked my claim on the gabled attic – so I went down the steps and walked to the end of the wooden dock, kicking off my flip-flops to sit and dangle my feet into the cool green waters. Tiny fish started nibbling at my toes while I took a sip of my coffee and looked out over the lake, enjoying the silence and solitude.

It had been too long since I had visited my childhood holiday home, and even longer since we had been here as a family; my parents, my older brother Emmett, and I. My mother had inherited the house shortly after my birth, and it became our escape when the dreary wet summers in Forks grew too gloomy to bear. It was right on the edge of a small crescent-shaped lake and was quite isolated; the only other house on this side of the lake was a five minute walk through the trees. In all our times here, I had never seen nor heard any sign of life from over there, so it had seemed like we were always completely alone.

The isolation of this place had always appealed to me. I fondly remembered cool evenings and the smell of pine, the golden light of waning summer days, silent hours broken only by the mournful cry of the loons, and when night had fallen, the sonorous musical grunting of bullfrogs.

I snorted at my romanticism, also remembering screaming fights with Emmett over his idiot friends, loud music and obnoxious teenage ways, and the raised voices of my parents as they argued over something trivial when they invariably got tired of having no other company but each other. Those two loved each other, but what made their marriage really work was that they had separate interests. They both enjoyed their time apart with no guilt and always came back to each other renewed.

Clouds drifted slowly overhead and I watched their broken reflections moving across the water. I wasn't wearing a watch, but by the time I finished my last gulp of cooling coffee it seemed like an hour had passed since my call with Jasper had ended, which meant I should probably get my butt in gear and dress. Climbing to my feet, I headed back inside to make the house livable for the foreseeable future, since apparently I would be staying here despite the fact that my presence was needed back in the city. My large suitcase was still downstairs, so I pulled out a pair of denim cutoff shorts and a white tank top and dressed right there in the hallway, braiding my damp hair as dappled sunlight played across my wet legs. It was a bit cold to be wearing so little, but I'd be working up a sweat as unpacked and dusted.

My docking station and iPod set up midway between the kitchen and the living room, I selected my cleaning play list and tucked the remote in my pocket. The fridge would be cold by now, so I headed for the kitchen to unpack my cooler and the few groceries I had brought from my apartment. By the time everything had been put away, Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" had given way to "Lady Marmalade". Arming myself with a Swiffer duster, I sashayed into the living room, not even trying to sing; there was no way I could hope to do Labelle justice. But I lip-synched for all I was worth, swiveling my hips and shaking my booty, dusting my way through the room and pulling dust covers off the furniture as I went. By the time I got to the hallway, I didn't care how bad my singing voice was. The Weather Girls and I were half-way through "It's Raining Men" and I was in mid shoulder shimmy when a loud knock sounded out behind me.

I screamed and spun around, holding the duster out in front of me like a weapon.

Standing in the doorway wearing an incredulous grin, was Jasper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** Big, huge, juicy thanks to Kalimando who has been pimping me out and has generally been very encouraging and supportive. There were times when she was the only person standing between me and the great abyss where stories and their writers go to die (yes, I am being overly melodramatic).

* * *

******Bella**:

"Don't stop on my account," Jasper drawled, propping his shoulder against the door jamb. "That was highly entertaining."

I doubled over, bracing myself on my knees and sucking in a deep breath, "Jasper…shit…" I gasped, as my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest. "You scared the crap out of me!"

He just looked at me in that insufferably smug way, and I knew exactly what that blues-loving snob was going to say next.

He did not disappoint. "Disco, Bella? Really?" he said, laughter bubbling in his voice.

I straightened up again and threw the duster in his direction, glaring at him as I turned off the music. "Don't be such a musical snob, Jasper. There is nothing wrong with disco. It has its place just like any other music genre. And wipe that insufferable smirk off your face. You're late. You said one hour, and it's been" - I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and checked it – "two and a half." I looked back at him pointedly.

He was still lounging in the doorway, sunlight glancing off his wheaten locks, looking like the long, tall, cool drink of water that he was, in faded and torn jeans and a Stevie Ray Vaughan t-shirt under his bomber jacket. He had a six pack of Corona in one hand, and a large pizza box balanced against his hip. It was from my favorite pizza joint, _La Bella Italia_, not to be confused with the restaurant of the same name back in Port Angeles, Washington.

"Is that what I think it is?" I said, immediately distracted, making a beeline for the pizza box and snatching it greedily out of his hand.

"Spinach pesto," he replied, relinquishing the pizza and pushing his way in past me. "It needs to be warmed up again."

"You'd better have limes, or you can just turn right around and leave," I said, mimicking his accent. "I haven't gotten around to going shopping yet."

"Right jacket pocket," he said, heading for the kitchen.

I trailed along behind him, balancing the pizza precariously on one hand and digging in his jacket pocked for limes as I went. "What is this in aid of anyway? Is this the condemned woman's last meal?" I put the box on the counter and popped open two of the beers, slicing up one of the limes and sticking a wedge in the mouth of each bottle while Jasper turned on the oven and found a baking sheet.

"It's fuel. You're in for a rough ride, and you're going to need it." He slid the pizza into the oven and stood, reaching for the beer I was handing him.

"Funny, Jazz," I said, clinking the base of my bottle to his.

"I wasn't joking, Bella," he said seriously, pushing the lime wedge into the bottle and propping himself against the kitchen counter. He took a pull from his beer without taking his eyes off mine.

We stared at each other for what felt like forever, his gaze impassive and mine challenging. I was too stubborn to speak first, but when Jasper went into his mad psychologist mode, he could sit motionless and stare at you attentively for ages, like some kind of freak, without moving a muscle. Clearly, he wasn't going to speak first no matter how long or aggressively I eyeballed him. Not exactly in the mood for a mutant staring match - which I would no doubt lose - I decided to go on the offensive instead.

"I know what you're doing," I said, taking another drink of beer.

"You do?" Jasper said evenly, still staring at me.

"Mmmhmm." I swallowed my mouthful. "I minored in psychology, you know."

"Yes, I do know. I don't usually agree to mentor people I haven't thoroughly researched." He took another pull on his beer. "So, would you care to enlighten me as to what you think I am doing?"

I turned away from him and got out some plates and napkins. "You're punishing me," I said promptly, setting them down on the butcher's block. "You're treating me the way you would a suspect you wanted to rattle, first by making me wait by telling me you are an hour away and then taking almost three. You're already starting to take control of the conversation and steering it where you want to it to go. Next you'll take control of my environment. Anything to keep me off balance, because if I am off balance, I won't be paying as much attention to what I'm saying, making it more likely that I let something slip."

"I see," he mused. "And what do you believe you're you being punished for?"

"See? You're still doing it. Don't try to manipulate me, Jazz," I said sternly. "I'm not in the mood to be head-shrunk right now. I get it; you're upset with me for keeping secrets from you, and you want to make me pay just a little. I'm sorry I haven't been forthcoming, but you don't need to worry about that anymore. I don't want to lose my job, and I want to lose my partner even less. I have no choice; I have to tell you everything, even if you'll think I'm crazy."

Jasper snorted. "Bella, I spend more time with you than with anyone else. I think I'd have noticed by now if you were crazy."

"You haven't heard what I'm going to say yet," I muttered, opening the oven to take an unnecessary peek at the pizza.

His voice softened. "Well, now is the time to tell me. That's what I came for."

The butterflies at rest in my stomach swirled into flight again. This was it; there was no backing out now. I was about to lay the whole strange tale out for Jasper to dissect. Swallowing, I fought a sudden surge of nausea. It didn't help that aside from the cappuccino earlier today, I hadn't had anything to eat. I needed something in my stomach before I could tell him what would be a fairly long story, especially when he started asking questions.

"Let's eat first. You said so yourself, I'm going to need fuel." I reached for the timer and set it for twenty minutes, knowing full well that I was just buying time. And by the look he was leveling at me, Jasper knew it as well. But knowing he was finally going to get the answers he wanted, he let it go.

I suppose you could say my interest in law-enforcement began when I was eight years old, the day my mother gave me a box that used to belong to my grandmother. It contained a veritable treasure trove of old books, mostly about kids and teenagers solving exciting mysteries. Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, the Famous Five, the Adventurous Four…I discovered them at the tail end of the school year and spent most of that summer inside, devouring those quaint stories one after the other. On those times when my mother forced me to go outside to get some much needed fresh air, I would disappear into the woods – something that my parents allowed _only_ if I kept our house or the road in sight - and pretend I was solving mysteries of my own. I hid treasures and planted clues, and then came back the next day to search for them, developing the most elaborate scenarios in my head. I had a very vivid imagination.

On one memorable occasion, I pretended I was being hunted by pirates, who were after a very important secret that only I knew. I ran through the woods imagining they were chasing me, turning every woodland noise into the sinister sounds of pursuit, and got so caught up in the fantasy that before I knew it, everything around me was unfamiliar. I couldn't see the house or the road anymore, and realized I was completely lost. The game stopped being fun at that point, and by the time night fell, I was no closer to finding my way home, and was truly frightened.

It was one of the volunteers out looking for me, a teenager from the nearby rez named Sam Uley, who rescued me. He found me cowering under a bush, paralyzed with terror by the sound of his approach, my imagination having conjured up all kinds of terrifying scenarios. After I had calmed down enough to realize he'd been sent to find me and meant me no harm, he picked me up and carried me back home without a word.

When I had recovered sufficiently from my ordeal, my usually mild-mannered and permissive father read me the riot act for disobeying my parents and going too deep into the woods alone, and then spanked me for the first and only time in my life. I learned later on that I wasn't the first person who had gone missing that summer, never to be found, and my parents had been absolutely frantic when I disappeared, believing the worst.

It was also around this time that I became fully aware of what my father did for a living. I knew he was a police officer, and that he was the chief. I knew he caught bad guys, found people who were lost, and made sure the town was safe. I had just never thought about what these things entailed until Sam Uley walked out of the woods with me, into a storm of voices, flashing red and blue lights, and my father calling out orders. I head the shout when someone noticed us, and my mother's cry of relief when my parents turned and saw that I was safe. After that day, I became aware that finding people, things, or solutions, required legwork, research, and asking questions before one could put the resulting data together in the hopes of getting a more or less complete picture of what happened.

Just like in my beloved books.

From that point on, my father replaced the fictional sleuths of my books as my hero, and I became his eager shadow. I even went fishing with him and his friends, something he'd always wanted but that I'd never been willing to do. I wanted to learn everything I could about what he did, and even though he wouldn't tell me much, claiming I was too young for such knowledge, just being with him made me feel like a part of what he was doing.

"Bella?"

Jasper's voice broke through the fog of my memories, and I gave myself a mental shake. I looked down at my plate, surprised to realize that I had eaten two slices of pizza down to the bone without tasting them. Jasper had gotten me a fresh beer, so it looked like I had finally run out of delaying tactics. It was now or never, and never wasn't an option anymore.

"Sorry. I was remembering."

We had moved to the living room to eat, and Jasper was already sitting like the psychologist he was, legs crossed and his fingers laced together in his lap (did they learn that in shrink school or something?) with a mild and kind shrinky look on his face.

"What where you remembering?" he prodded me gently.

I set my plate on the coffee table. "I was remembering the origins of my fascination with law-enforcement." Jasper knew of the incident that started me on my path, but he had no inkling of the event that launched an obsession and gave rise to my desire to become an FBI agent.

"I'm going to have to backtrack quit a way, so please be patient. There's a reason I'm starting so far back, and it'll become clear eventually." I took a steadying breath, and started my story.

"When I was twelve, Renee and Charlie took me to New York to see a Broadway show as a birthday present. That night in the hotel, I had a dream. It was unusual in that it was very vivid, as real as this is." – I made a vague gesture encompassing us and the room. "You know how when you wake up from a dream, you know it was a dream because reality just feels way more real?" He nodded. "Well, there was no such distinction between this dream and reality. The dream was as real as reality, and I remembered every detail vividly. I still do, to this day.

"I was breaking into a house, and was watching my gloved hands as they picked the lock and pushed the door open. My eyes swept the hall and the rooms visible beyond, noting the items of value and calculating how easy they would be to transport and to fence. As I moved past the hall table, I happened to glance up at the mirror, only to find that the face reflected in it wasn't mine. I did a double take, and the reflection in the mirror did the same. It was that of a boy, a teenager really, only a few years older than I was. I stood and stared at my reflection, and that's where the dream got a little weird. Well, weirder. Though I was still just standing there staring, my reflection…I mean the boy in the mirror, got angry. He started yelling at me, asking me what the hell I was doing there and telling me to get the hell out. He looked like he was expecting me to do or say something, and when I didn't, he slammed both hands flat onto the mirror. I was thrown backward, and woke up suddenly, lying on my back in the hotel bed, with the first and worst migraine I'd ever had. It lasted the rest of the night, and I was in tears and thrashing around for most of it. I had never known pain like that, and haven't since. My parents came very close to taking me to the emergency room."

Looking down at my hands, I noticed that I had picked up and was mangling one of my pizza crusts without even noticing it. I put the twisted piece of dough back on the plate and clasped my hands in my lap to keep them still. Jasper just sat there looking encouraging and non-confrontational, and I felt myself slowly relax. Damn, he was good at putting people at ease.

I resumed my story. "Fast forward four years. We had a house guest for a few days; a friend of Charlie's who worked at the FBI, in the White Collar Crimes Division. My fascination for crime had never left me; if anything it grew stronger as I grew older and learned more about law-enforcement. By then I knew that the Chief of Police of a small town like Forks didn't have quite as much to do as other law-enforcement officers. The "bad guys" he caught were usually harmless teenagers, up to simple mischief. He didn't do much crime solving. So when this _bona fide _FBI agent showed up in our house, I was in heaven. Being quite shy with strangers back then, I wasn't forward enough to ask him any questions, but I listened in to his conversations with Charlie from the kitchen. One evening as I was cleaning up after dinner, Charlie's friend started talking about a case that had come his way via a friend in the NYPD. He wasn't working it, but he had taken a definite interest in it.

"It concerned a young man in his early twenties. Evidently this man was quite a playboy, and was often seen on the arm of rich socialites of all ages. Though it appeared that he never stole from the women he was with, he was a person of interest in quite a few thefts that had take place at various homes, galleries, and museums he visited with his wealthy and connected girlfriends. It had taken a while, but eventually he had come to the attention of the cops as being the only possible link between all those thefts. It was thought that he used the women to gain access to the jewels, art, or money he had set his sights on, and then used the cover of the crowds to commit his crimes. Unfortunately, aside from his presence, there was absolutely nothing to link him to any of those cases. They had no evidence of any kind, and despite being put under surveillance, he had never been caught with anything, be it the tools of a burglar's trade, weapons, or any of the items he was supposed to have stolen.

"I listened in avidly, and my imagination was fired up. There seemed to be a real mystery surrounding this guy. A string of bad luck seemed to plague the police when it came to him. Where there should have been security footage, there were only blank or defective discs. Where there should have been eyewitnesses, there were only security guards who'd had the misfortune to step away from their posts at the wrong moment. Where there should have been forensic evidence, there was nothing that didn't belong right where it was. They couldn't even agree on whether he had an accomplice or not. There was simply nothing to go on, except the gut feelings of a few grizzled veterans of the force. They knew he was involved, they just didn't know in what capacity or how deeply.

"I was fascinated, and apparently it was my lucky day because Charlie's friend wanted his input on the case, and had brought a copy of the file with him. I took the opportunity to sneak a look at it later on when both men planted themselves in front of the TV to watch the game. I didn't dare to remove it, so I just stood there quietly, hoping that neither of them would turn around and notice me, and devoured the contents of that file. When I got to the surveillance pictures, I very nearly blacked out."

This was where my story turned freaky, and I looked Jasper dead in the eyes, watching for his reaction as I spoke my next words.

"It was him, Jazz. The boy from my dream. He was older, but it was _him_. It was Edward Masen."


	3. Chapter 3

**Note**: The bad news: this is a short chapter. The good news: I'm posting another (also short) chapter in the next few days. I still need to tweak it a little, but it is basically finished. Also, I plan on posting a little teaser at the end of the next chapter by way of apology for taking so long, and I can't decide on which one.

And now, back to Fedsper and…er…Federella (and eventually, but not in the next two chapters, Thiefward).

* * *

I knew Jasper wouldn't laugh at me or dismiss me out of hand, but other than that, I had no idea what to expect from him given the bomb I had just dropped on him.

It certainly wasn't what he said next.

"Have you had many migraines since that dream?" he asked, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

My jaw dropped. "Jazz," I said incredulously, "I just told you that a guy I once saw in my dream over a decade ago turns out to be real, and all you can ask me about are my migraines?"

Jasper uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and toying with the class ring on his finger, something he did when he was trying to figure something out. "I'll admit it's a little strange," he said, frowning at his hands, "but it isn't impossible that you saw him around town that day, and pulled his face out of your subconscious."

I dipped my head to catch his eye and gave him a disbelieving look. "Come on. How likely do you think that is?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, Bella, I'm not a statistician."

I waved my hand dismissively. "You said so yourself, Jazz; he recognized me when we arrested him. How do you explain that? That he too just happened to have seen me somewhere before? That's one too many coincidences, don't you think?"

He scratched his stubbled jaw. "I can't argue with that," he said pensively.

Sighing, I stood and up my empty bottles. "Anyway, there's more. I'm not done yet. But first, I think I'm going to need more alcohol."

Jasper stood and stretched with a satisfied grunt, his joints audibly popping as he extended his arms high above his head, fingers laced together. "I'm afraid I only brought the six-pack," he said, rolling his shoulders and stacking our plates to carry them to the kitchen along with his empties.

I followed behind with mine. "Oh, we've got something better than beer," I said, locating my emergency bottle of Don Jerez tequila and banging it down on the counter with a flourish.

Jasper raised his eyebrows. "The good stuff," he said, reaching for the salt while got us a couple of shot glasses and deftly sliced up the rest of the limes. "This must be serious."

I didn't comment, but I'm pretty sure my silence spoke for me.

Not in the mood to find the key to the bunkhouse and dig out the outdoor furniture, we took the couch cushions out to the porch and sat on the floorboards, setting the lime wedges, tequila, and salt between us. I sat facing the lake, expecting Jasper to sit beside me, but he settled down perpendicular to me, probably so he could observe my facial expressions as I talked. The thought of him watching me so closely and reading me like a book was unsettling. I did not like to be the center of attention, even if it was just Jasper's attention. Especially Jasper's attention, now that I thought about it. I had just enough knowledge of psychology to understand what he would be looking for. My body positioning and micro-expressions, among other things, would fill in all the blanks left by my words, probably telling him more than I ever wanted him to know. Even with what I knew about psychological tells, I wasn't skilled enough at dissembling to hide from him completely. I would have to be careful.

He poured us a shot, which we disposed of as tradition dictated. My lips pursed over the sourness of the lime and I enjoyed the burn of the tequila as it laid a trail of fire down my throat. I moaned in appreciation and dropped my lime wedge in my glass, grabbing the bottle to pour us another one. Jasper reached for my wrist, stopping me.

"Uh-uh," he said, prying the bottle out of my protesting fingers and setting it out of my reach. "Talk first."

Muttering under my breath, I settled back against the wall, looking out over the water and gathering my thoughts, still not sure exactly how much I wanted to reveal. What I did know was that I hadn't yet told my partner enough to satisfy him. Far from it.

"After I had recovered from the shock, I quietly went to the kitchen for a pad and pen, and sat down at the dining room table to write down as much information as I possibly could from the file. I even snuck down in the middle of the night to see if the file was in the dining room. Fortunately it wasn't, because I swear I would have taken it, found an all-night convenience store, and made myself a copy of the entire thing. I felt almost sick with excitement; I knew what I was doing was probably illegal, but there was no way I could let this opportunity pass me by. This was too great a mystery for me to just let go. I convinced myself that this was a gift from the universe and went through the file without remorse.

"I came alive that day, Jazz" I said, looking up at his sympathetic face. "All of a sudden, I had a real case all of my own to look into, a renewed sense of purpose, and eventually, when I realized I wasn't going to get very far on my own, a plan.

"The FBI," Jasper supplied, shifting and stretching his legs out in front of him.

I focused on his bare feet to avoid looking at him. "Yes. I eventually figured out I would need the kind of access only law enforcement officers have. I picked the FBI because I had juvenile fantasies about apprehending him myself. Of course I had no idea that I would actually succeed in bringing that part of my dream to fruition. It was just a pipe dream at the time. I expected I would follow in my father's footsteps, and become a cop, at most. Anyway, from that point on, Edward Masen consumed all of my waking hours, and some of my sleeping ones as well. I became obsessed with finding out more about him. Every moment of spare time that was mine was spent on researching him. I even tried – repeatedly - to hire a private investigator, but was too young and too broke for anyone to consider taking me on, which was probably a good thing in the end. Unfortunately I discovered very little about him that didn't come from gossip columns or the occasional photo at an opening of some kind. I didn't have access to the stuff which would have interested me. That's when I decided that the only solution was to become an FBI agent. It would give me the clearance I needed to find out more about him."

I could feel Jasper's eyes on me, and I looked at him nervously, knowing I had broken through his calm veneer. Sure enough, he was looking at me in surprise. "Wait…you became an FBI agent because you wanted to find out more about a petty thief?" he asked me incredulously, sitting up straighter.

"_Petty_ thief? Let me see…Art theft for sure, and almost certainly also bond forgery, counterfeiting, racketeering, identity theft and securities fraud," I replied, counting them off on my fingers. "I hardly think that counts as 'petty', Jasper".

"Semantics." He leaned back again, still looking at me in shocked disbelief. "The point is you built your whole life plan around a criminal. Did you even think about what would happen after we apprehended him? I mean did you have any interest in the FBI outside of Edward Masen? My God, Bella, no wonder you have lost your sense of purpose. This explains so much. Your entire identity is wrapped up in him."

"No, it is not," I said firmly. "Anyway, that's not the point. Have you already forgotten about the dream? And the fact that we recognized each other? He and I are connected somehow, Jazz!" Even as I blurted out those last words, I knew I had said more than I should; Jasper would most certainly misunderstand my meaning. But it was too late to take the words back.

Jasper slid over to sit cross legged in front of me, our knees touching. "Bella," he said authoritatively, reaching for my shoulders and giving me a shake. He wore a look of concern that made me feel defensive; it was pretty certain I wouldn't like what was coming. My hackles rose.

"He's a sociopath, Bella," he said, looking at me searchingly and probably seeing far more than I wanted him to. "You know that, don't you?"

Anger blazed, and I shrugged off his hands, rising to my feet. "Of course I know that!" I snapped, striding back into the house to get away from his searching eyes. "I'm familiar with the profile, thank you. I'm not an idiot, neither am I blind. I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're thinking."

Jasper was right behind me. "You've heard of the expression 'she doth protest too much', right?" he said calmly. "You brought it up, not I."

He followed me into the kitchen, where I came to a sudden stop, belatedly realizing I had nothing to pretend to do in there. Flushing with annoyance, I spun around, ignoring my partner as I brushed past him and headed back out to the porch to sit down in the spot I had just vacated. Before he could even think about stopping me, I poured us both another shot, slamming mine back without bothering with salt. I did bite down on a lime wedge though, to keep my mouth occupied for a few second longer.

Jasper dropped into a crouch, his back propped against the railing, facing me this time. Animosity crackled around me as I glared at him, but he remained completely unruffled, giving me nothing to stoke my anger with, and eventually it faded away to faint resentment.

I held up the bottle, wordlessly suggesting another drink by way of apology, and he nodded his acceptance.

Pouring him a shot, I scooted forward and reached for his hand, wetting the fleshy part of his hand between his thumb and index finger with a drop of lime juice, and then sprinkling salt on it. He licked it off and then reached for the shot glass I held out to him, in which I had placed the lime wedge. He tipped the liquid and the slice into his mouth, swallowing the tequila and then maneuvering the lime between his teeth with his tongue, biting down on it over a feral grin. I couldn't help the answering smile that split my face, and just that easily, the rest of the tension between us melted away.

I settled back in my spot. "Seriously, Jazz...I know what this looks like. But even if I did have some schoolgirl crush on Edward, which I don't, I'm not doing this for any other reason than to solve the mystery of my connection with him. You have to admit, this whole thing is pretty freaky. Wouldn't you be fascinated if you were in my position? Wouldn't you want to figure it out at all cost?"

"Not at all cost, no," he said seriously, sliding down into a sitting position. "And that's the point. You're getting in way too deep. You are taking this obsession too far, and it isn't healthy. When something like this starts affecting other areas of your life, it becomes a problem. And it _has_ started affecting your life - your job, for a start. While we were working on the Masen case, you did your best work ever. Now? Your performance is average, at best. It's like you don't care anymore. And when is the last time you went out on a date? You have few friends that I know of, and I have never seen hide nor hair of a boyfriend.

"I'm worried about you, Bella. You are passionate and stubborn, and I am concerned about where those traits will take you on this adventure of yours. You're intelligent, but I know you, and I am afraid that in this case you won't listen to reason. You'll do what you want, and you'll do it with blind dedication, whether it's good for you or not."

My eyes drifted past him to the shifting waters of the lake. All of what he said was was true, I couldn't deny it. I decided right then that I couldn't tell Jasper the rest. He must never know how deep I had already fallen. I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't in love with Edward, but I left out the fact that even though I didn't have feelings for him beyond the fascination our strange connection held for me, he would always be standing between me and any man that might be worth having a lasting relationship with. I wasn't stupid; I was well aware there was absolutely no question of anything ever happening between us. There was no evidence that he was interested in me in any way, and even if he was, he was still a criminal, and I a federal agent sworn to uphold the law. Fire and water. All I knew was that my need to find out would always be an impediment to my leading a normal life with someone.

Strangely, that was fine by me. I had resigned myself to never having a serious relationship with a man, never having a family, quite some time ago. It's not like I hadn't tried. When I first got to college, I decided it was time to lose my virginity, just to get it over with. I went about it in my usual methodical manner; I picked a nice, relatively attractive guy whose name I had already forgotten, went out on a few dates with him, and then took him to bed. I didn't tell him about my being a virgin, worried that he would turn me down if he found out about my inexperience, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't notice, anyway. Let's just say I was no stranger to toys, and had no trace of a hymen left by then.

It wasn't a painful experience, at least not the actual sex, but something definitely wasn't right. It began when we started kissing each other, and the more intimate we became, the more unsettled I felt. Initially, I attributed my discomfort to nerves born of inexperience and pushed past it, but the feeling just wouldn't go away. Instead it grew into a niggling sense of wrongness, like we weren't who we were supposed to be. I couldn't begin to put it into coherent words. It was just...wrong. But I ignored it and kept going. This was a hurdle I definitely wanted to get past, and I didn't like failure, so there would be no giving up for me. I would see this experiment through to its conclusion.

I didn't climax, but in all fairness it had nothing to do with who I was with. By the time pushed his way into me, I was practically freaking out inside, and completely shut off from the boy who was thrusting into me and grunting in pleasure. When it became clear that there was no way I was going to just get over how I was feeling, I faked it, writhing and moaning underneath him. When the timbre of his groans told me he was about to come, I clenched around him a couple of times, crying out in feigned pleasure.

He must have noticed something was wrong when we just lay there afterward, speaking very little, and fortunately left shortly after with a contrived excuse, for which I was eternally grateful. Neither of us said anything about calling the other as I saw him to the door, and I would not see him again. Once I had locked up behind him, I leaned against the door and slid to the ground, breathing deeply in relief. I couldn't begin to understand my strange reaction, and decided not to bother trying to figure it out right then. I was feeling a bit queasy and had a slight headache, so I took a couple of pain-killers with a huge glass of water, showered to get every trace of the guy's scent off me, and went to bed.

I made two more attempts, with different men, but it was the same thing each time. My discomfort was not as severe as that first time, but that same sense of wrongness was present, and finally, I gave up trying. I imagined there was probably something psychologically wrong with me, but I didn't care enough to do anything about it. I had my career goals to think of, and wasting time on men was not part of my plans.

At the time, it did not occur to me that my obsession with Edward might have something to do with my sexual problems, but I was forced to consider it in light of what Jasper had said. He was a professional; maybe I was so wound up in Edward that it affected more parts of my life than I could have ever guessed.

"Bella?" Jasper's voice broke into my musings.

"Mmm?" I looked at him, immediately noting the concern on his face.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked me gently.

"Can we not talk about all this anymore?" I pleaded. "I feel like I've been through a wringer, and I have a lot to think about, but right now I need a break from all the drama. Let's get shit-faced on tequila, and maybe you could play for me." I stood to go and get Emmett's old guitar, turning in the doorway to face Jasper. "You'll stay, right?"

I must have sounded fragile, because his expression softened. "Well, I can't exactly drink and drive, now can I? I'll stay. Only I forgot to put my go bag back in the car again, so you'll have to lend me something of Emmett's to sleep in."

"As long as you don't mind lavender scented sweats," I said. "Renee is a bit of a hippie, she puts sachets in all the drawers. She says it keeps pests away."

"I'll live," he replied, smiling at me.

"Thanks, Jazz," I murmured as a sudden afterthought. "For everything."

"Any time, kid," came his soft reply. "And could you bring out my smokes while you're in there? They're in my jacket."

I nodded, smirking. "Pack of cancer sticks, coming right up."

"Shut your mouth," he shot back at me, throwing a twisted up piece of lime at me and hitting me in the shoulder. "I don't want to hear it."

Laughing, I disappeared into the house.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of Jasper opening Emmett's bedroom door and heading downstairs woke me and I cracked open an eye, trying to guestimate the time of day by the amount of sun that painted the floorboards. It looked like it might have been close to noon, and all that bright light blazing through the windows wasn't helping my tequila headache.

We had seriously overdone it last night. I brought out Jasper's cigarettes and Emmett's old guitar, and later, when it got too dark to see, candles to light our little corner of the porch. We sat side by side, doing shots and speaking of everything and anything besides work and my issues. Jasper played and occasionally sang, and I listened in silence. It had been, all in all, a very pleasant evening, and a relief after all the angst.

As always, it took me a while to come fully awake. Jasper was banging around in the kitchen and talking on the phone - probably to one of the people doing _my_ job, I thought mutinously. It wasn't long before the smell of coffee drifted up to my room. That was reason enough to get up, not that I'd ever touch any coffee that Jasper Whitlock had anything to do with. Grinning to myself in anticipation of our battle of wits, I twisted into a catlike stretch, my hips going one way and my chest the other, let out a satisfied grunt, and rolled out of bed. I pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt, twisting my hair into a bun and skewering it with a pencil as I made my way to the kitchen.

Jasper had finished his calls and was standing in front of the coffee machine, blearily watching it burble and drip. He was wearing nothing but a pair of Emmett's old sweats, which despite being rolled over several times at the waist were still hanging dangerously low on his hips, and the top of his floppy hair had been pulled back into a short ponytail.

I stopped in the doorway and observed my partner and friend dispassionately. As usual, every time I saw him bare-chested, I was brought up short by the network of scars that crisscrossed the skin on his back, and every time, I had to wonder how those scars got there. I suppose his file could have told me everything I wanted to know, but while I would stop at practically nothing to delve into Edward's life, that was just not something I could do to my partner and friend. If Jasper wanted me to know something, he would tell me.

I had seen his scars for the first time when we had to share a hotel room while out of town on a case. I'd barged into the bathroom just as he'd gotten out of the shower and was standing in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around his hips. I managed not to gasp, but he heard my intake of breath and looked up. Our eyes met in the mirror and did all the talking. We both acknowledged that I had seen them, and that I wasn't going to ask and he wasn't going to tell. Without a word, I backed out of the room steeling myself for awkwardness, but when he came out, everything was surprisingly normal between us. We have yet to speak about it.

It didn't stop me from speculating though. He'd spent time in Afghanistan while he was in the Marine Corps, probably as an interrogator, and whatever gave him those scars had happened over a period of time, and had been unpleasant, to put it mildly. They ranged from thin white lines to dark textured welts and some of them even bore signs of having been crudely stitched up. I suspected he'd probably been held captive for a time, and that his scars were the result of torture. It was a sickening thought, and I tried not to dwell on it.

Jasper and I met for the first time when he came to Quantico to give a talk on Kinesic Interrogation Techniques. I had heard of him, obviously - who in the field of law enforcement hadn't - and seen his picture on the posters advertising his seminars. He was one of those men who, though quite handsome in pictures, became devastatingly so when you met them in the flesh. Their physical attributes were enhanced by how they moved, how they looked at you, spoke to you, and treated you, as well as who who they were as human beings.

While giving his talk, Dr. Jasper Whitlock, a Forensic Psychologist of some renown at the FBI, taught the room a lesson in the power of body language. He seduced his listeners with his posture, the tilt of his head, and the power of his sea-green eyes. He kept his tone low, which, he told me later, was a trick he'd learned from a teacher and which forced his listeners to focus their attention that much more on what he was saying. Soon I was sitting on the edge of my seat, practically holding my breath, riveted by the man strolling back and forth in front of his audience.

I was starstruck, not just by the man, but by his knowledge of his material. Fortunately, my sudden "crush" on Jasper lasted only a little beyond the end of his lecture. I hung back, waiting for a moment to speak to him about a point he'd made, until the crowd around him thinned, then introduced myself and asked him if I could buy him a cup of coffee. We had an immediate rapport; within minutes of getting deep into a conversation with him, we had established a bond that was purely fraternal, and would never be anything but. While I wasn't blind to his charm, looks, voice and gentlemanly way with people, I ceased to see him as anything more than a potential friend.

When I found out that he was on the task force looking to apprehend Edward Masen, I couldn't believe my luck. I asked him if I could interview him about Edward for my thesis. He was impressed by my knowledge and insights into him, and when I asked to be assigned to White Collar upon graduating, he was only too happy to take me on.

"I'm making coffee; you want some?" he yawned, signaling the start of our ritual of insulting the other's choice of morning beverage.

"I wouldn't touch that dirty dishwater you Texans call coffee if it was the last coffee on earth," I sneered, heading straight for my espresso pot. Hopefully, the double cappuccino I was about to make would take care of the results of my tequila binge. I started packing in the finely ground coffee I used for espressos, to find Jasper staring at it in distaste.

"You keep drinking that toxic waste, and you're gonna grow gills," he drawled, pouring himself a mug of what looked more like strong tea than anything that could be legally called coffee.

I eyed his brew with equal distaste while preparing to make coffee the way it was _meant_ to be made. "Coffee isn't supposed to be transparent, you know. What did you do, swirl a coffee bean around in hot water for fifteen seconds? You could read through that stuff, it's so weak."

Jasper snorted into his mug, just about managing to contain his mirth. "But drowning it in milk, putting all that girlie foam on top, and if _that_ weren't bad enough, cinnamon sparkles…that's OK?

_Must not laugh_…"There are no such things as cinnamon sparkles, you idiot," I squeaked, trying very hard to hide the fact that I was close to breaking. "It's a blend of sugar and cinnamon."

It was too late. Jasper knew he had me, and delivered the _coup de grace _quickly and cleanly. "I don't care what it is," he said triumphantly. "It's sparkly. That's not coffee, girl, that's coffee in _drag_. Right down to the name. I mean really…cappuccino? It's the drag queen of caffeinated beverages."

That was it. I just lost it. My barely contained laughter exploded out in an undignified snort, and I burst out laughing, effectively conceding defeat. Jasper had won this round of the Coffee Wars.

Once I had finished the elaborate ritual of foaming the milk and assembling my drink - all while having to put up with Jasper's derogatory remarks - he took his cup of dirty dishwater and I my cup of toxic waste in drag, and we went out to sit at the end of the dock to enjoy the sun, debating the relative merits - there were none, in my opinion - of the coffee that was served in American eating establishments these days.

Jasper tended to gulp his coffee as fast as its temperature allowed, so he was done long before I had finished daintily sipping mine, and was leaning back on his elbows, his face turned up toward the sun, swinging his feet back and forth in the water. I watched him covertly, curious as to what his plans were for me now that I had told him most of my dirty little secret, and working up the nerve to ask him.

"Spit it out, Swan," he said lazily, without opening his eyes.

"So, I was wondering...what are you going to do about what I've told you?" I asked hesitantly. "I mean, will I still have a job with you when my month is up?"

He opened his eyes and sat up. "Well, I guess the question is, do you still want to work for the FBI? Think about it before answering, Bella; with Masen out of the equation, would you still want to be an agent?"

I didn't need to think about it, but did anyway. "Jazz, I realize my commitment to the job has left something to be desired recently, but I still really love what I do. My interest in law enforcement predates Edward. Yes, I joined the FBI because of him, but I'm glad I did, regardless. This is so much better than being a cop."

It was, too. Though I had lost interest in my other cases for a while, coming this close to losing my job made me rethink my priorities, and I was eager for a fresh start. It had nothing to do with the fact that Edward was on the lam, and his case reopened. At least that was my story, and I was sticking to it.

"Then you still have a job with me," he said simply. "I'm going to be keeping a close eye on you, though. At least for the foreseeable future."

"I can live with that," I said, giving him a one-armed sideways hug.

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes longer until Jasper broke it. "Hey, Bella. How is it that you know so much about Masen, anyway? I mean, your insights into him are bordering on preternatural. Why do you think that is?"

"No clue, Jazz," I replied, flopping down on my back and staring at the sky. "I just...know. It's like I know him. Really _know_ him, intimately but on a mental level. Like I have access to his brain somehow. I feel like I know what makes him tick, what he is capable of, what drives him."

"For example?" And just like that, we were FBI agents again. He wasn't asking out of personal interest; he was back on the case.

"Well..." I gave it some thought. "He hasn't killed yet, but I think he's capable of it. For the right reasons, he'd have absolutely no qualms. In my opinion, it's only a matter of time."

Jasper nodded. "For a sociopath, that makes sense."

"Also, I don't think he's left the state." My partner gave me a curious look, and I answered his unspoken question. "No, I don't know why I think that. He was an exemplary prisoner, he would have been released on good behavior soon, and yet suddenly he breaks out of jail for no apparent reason. I think something came up, and that's why he hasn't left the country. He has some unfinished business here. Which reminds me...do we know how he broke out yet?" I added casually.

"No, but I will as soon as I get back to the city." He pulled his legs out of the water, and hopped to his feet, effectively ending my line of questioning before it even started. "Speaking of which, I need to get going. This guy isn't going to catch himself."

Holding out his hand to me, he helped me to my feet and we headed back inside.

* * *

"I don't think so, Bella," Jasper said with finality. "Certainly not given what I know now. It's out of the question."

I paused with my hand on the door handle and squeezed my eyes shut. I'd been trying to convince Jasper to intercede with the Assistant Director to get me released from my enforced vacation, but it was an uphill battle. He was having none of it.

Turning to face him, I looked him square in the eyes. "I can do my job without letting my…history with Masen interfere, if that's the problem."

Jasper crossed his arms over his chest. He was closing himself off, hardening himself against my attempts at persuasion. According to him, the very fact that I was pushing so hard was a sign that I needed to take a step back, enjoy my vacation, and come back to work refreshed.

Right. Like that was going to happen with Edward still out there.

"You said you'd be crazy not to consult with me on this case," I tried again, ruthlessly suppressing the desperation welling up inside me. "I'll be far more effective if I'm back on the case. You're not going to catch Edward Masen using traditional methods. He's too good. You need to get in his head, and you don't have time for that. You need someone who's _already_ in his head. That's _me_, Jasper. Come on, this is silly. You're cutting off your nose to spite your face. I promise I'll take my vacation _after_ we nail him."

Jasper's face was granite. I wasn't getting through.

"You need me," I pleaded. "You _need_ me," I repeated passionately, putting my hand on his forearm. I didn't realize how tense he was until I felt his muscles relax beneath my fingers.

He wavered, and I knew I had him. "Ok," he said, sounding slightly dazed. "I'll talk to Boss. I can't promise anything, though."

My shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you," I breathed, dropping my head.

He unfolded his arms and clasped a hand to the back of my neck. "I really have to get going," he said, pulling me toward him and pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Now you relax and enjoy your time off," he ordered, ducking his head to look me in the eyes and giving my neck a squeeze. "Until you hear from me, don't even _think_ about work. Got it?"

_Seriously? I don't think so_. I gave him a look and moved aside, opening the front door. "Get the hell out of my house," I deadpanned.

He grinned toothily at me, strutting through the door and bounding down the stairs to his truck. I stepped out as he climbed into the cab, and waved at him as he peeled off down the driveway.

When he had disappeared in a spray of gravel, I turned back and went into the kitchen to clean up, disposing of the evidence of our alcoholic excesses, and washing the glasses and plates. When the counters had been wiped clean, I propped the pizza box on top of the logs in the fireplace and started a fire, watching it for a moment to make sure it took. It was getting a little chilly, so I shut the doors to the patio and headed to the hallway to get my laptop from my partially disemboweled suitcase, onto which I had scanned and saved every scrap of information I had collected on Edward over the years. The hard copies, some of which had been illegally obtained, were safely locked up in my safe deposit box. I stopped in the bathroom to swallow a couple of pain killers with a huge glass of water and stood there quietly for a moment, my fingers massaging my temples, trying to rub away the headache that coffee had failed to take care of, before going back to the living room.

After settling myself comfortably on the sofa in front of the fire place, I powered up my computer and started going through all my documents and pictures of Edward, looking for something I might have missed, something that would explain why Edward would break out of jail with possibly only months left to go on his sentence, something, _anything_, that might help me…that might help Jasper apprehend him again. At least that's what I told myself. If I were going to be completely honest, I already knew the file inside out, and wouldn't find anything new here. But I just couldn't let go of the case, and if working on it wasn't going to be an option, then this was all I had.

Yawning, I immersed myself in my quarry's early history, of which there wasn't that much. Edward Anthony Masen had by all accounts been an extremely gifted child. His IQ was reported to be over 180, and his artistic talents were unparalleled. When a particularly virulent strain of flu took his parents within days of each other, he disappeared into the foster system, and that was where the trail ended. There was no record to be found of where he went and what became of Edward Masen after that, which was a mystery in and of itself.

I looked away from the harsh glare of my screen and stared into the flames, thinking about the day we had arrested him. That had been the first time I had seen him up close and personal. He'd been wearing an impeccably tailored suit that I suspected might have some subtle padding at the shoulders. His hair, occupying that indistinct territory between brown, red and blond, was beautifully styled, not a hair out of place. He had turned around when Jasper called out to him, his eyes finding mine immediately, as if drawn there by magnetism. His face had gone slack with shock for a split second, followed rapidly by surprise, and then anger, before going back to that look of cocky self-assuredness he wore in every picture I had ever seen of him, including his most recent mug shot. I pulled the mug shot in question up and stared at it, even though I knew it by heart, up to and including his booking number. In it his head was dipped slightly so he was almost looking at the camera through his eyelashes, his jade eyes hooded and knowing, and his full lips were twisted into a lopsided, self-satisfied smirk. He clearly wasn't taking his arrest seriously and it felt like he was taunting me after the fact. It was absurd, but was almost as if he was watching me through that picture.

"My god, I really _am_ losing it," I muttered to myself, minimizing that page and going back to the case files. The throbbing in my head increased with every click of the mouse, and it wasn't long before it became impossible for me to focus. Clearly, the pain meds were not going to work, and staring at an illuminated screen was a recipe for disaster. I felt groggy and slightly nauseous, and my eyes felt gritty - all signs of an impending migraine. Knowing from past experience that it was pointless to fight against it, I closed my laptop and set in on the coffee table, stretching out on the sofa and pulling a throw over my hips. I turned away from the fire, pressing my face into the cool darkness of the sofa back. I'd intended only to rest my eyes for half an hour, but ended up falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

I woke up suddenly, my senses on high alert, absolutely certain that something was wrong. Lying motionless, I listened carefully for anything out of place, hearing nothing besides the faint crackling of the fire. Night had fallen, and the flames had died to throbbing embers, casting the corners of the room in deep shadows. The wind had picked up outside and was keening mournfully through invisible cracks in the window frames. Nothing stirred.

The stillness of the air was suddenly broken by a noiseless gust, moving like a living presence through the room. It brushed against my cheek and caused the fire to flare up with a couple of loud pops, startling me and sending me surging to my feet, the throw slithering silently to the ground. My heart lurched to a stop and then started beating again, thundering painfully in my chest.

I scanned the room for threats only to find that the door to the porch had swung open on a breath of air, letting the wind pour inside.

I froze.

That door was known to swing open when the wind blew off the lake, and that had been the case since as early as I could remember, which is why everyone in the family knew to listen for the click of the latch engaging when they closed it. That was the only way to ensure that the door would not open on its own. This became second nature to all of us. I always listened to for the sound of the latch when closing that door and today had been no different.

Someone had to have opened it. Someone had been in this room while I was sleeping.

Moving swiftly to the mantle, I snatched up one of the wrought iron candlesticks and pried the candle off. Flipped upside down, the base could be used to bludgeon whoever had had the audacity to enter my home. Hefting the candlestick, I carefully and quietly made my way to the door, turning on a side-lamp as I went. Once the door was not only closed, but locked tight, I padded toward the hallway ducking my head quickly around the door frame to check the way to the kitchen. The coast appeared to be clear. My service weapon was in the nightstand drawer all the way upstairs where I wanted it, but my 9mm Browning, a gift from Charlie once I had convinced him that anyone living in a house with guns should learn how to use them, was still in my suitcase, wrapped in a t-shirt. I went for it quickly, not a trace of the clumsy girl I used to be in my steps. Pawing though my clothes, I located the loaded magazine, slid it into the grip and chambered a round. Once it was cocked and locked, I started a methodical sweep of the house, from the downstairs up.

Occasionally still graceless in my day to day life, I turned into La Femme Nikita the minute I slipped into special agent mode. I knew from past experience that when necessary, when my life might be at risk, I was perfectly capable of moving with the sure-footedness of a cat. It was as if my entire self would swing sharply into focus. I attributed this not only to the games I played as a child, but also to the relationship I had developed with fear. Fear, I had learned from my father, could be both disabling and empowering, depending on what you did with it. In his opinion, people who were fearless didn't live long. Neither did those who let it control them. The key, Charlie said, was striking a balance. If set aside and acknowledged without letting it take over and rule ones actions, fear could prove a great ally, keeping us from making possibly fatal mistakes.

I carried this advice with me as I moved from room to room, finding them all empty and undisturbed. When a check of the whole house had yielded nothing to indicate an intruder, I sank down on to my bed and set my 9mm beside me, wondering if perhaps I'd been mistaken about properly closing the back door after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Try as I did to resist the temptation, I lasted about a day after Jasper left before caving and calling him to find out if he'd spoken to Boss about reinstating me until we'd caught Edward again. The conversation did not go well. It didn't help that Jasper was feeling particularly harried that day, either.

"No, and I'm not going to," was his terse reply to my question, "so stop asking."

My heart sank. I'd placed high hopes on Jasper succeeding in convincing Boss to let me come back, but if he wasn't even willing to go to bat for me..."But...why?" I stuttered. "You agreed yesterday. What changed?"

"Yesterday I agreed because you swayed me. You can be pretty persuasive when you want to be, and sometimes it's just easier to give in. In any case, I thought about it on the way home, and changed my mind. You're too close to the case, Bella, and you've been running yourself ragged," he said firmly. "You need a break. I'll consult with you, but your involvement ends there."

It took everything I had not to argue with him, but it was evident that there was no point. Jasper had made up his mind, and any more pushing on my part would only further validate his belief that I was a loose cannon and needed to be kept on a short leash. In my opinion he was being stubborn and unreasonable, but it wasn't my call to make, and when it came to Jasper, I knew when enough was enough. He had made it quite clear that I'd reached the limits of his tolerance.

I sighed and reluctantly dropped the subject. "So, any news on how he got out?"

"Yeah. It's pretty damn surreal. Evidently he used a stolen credit card to buy himself an expensive suit and shoes, and he somehow got his hands on a briefcase and non-prescription glasses, and he walked right out through the front door posing as a lawyer…"

"Had he modified his appearance in any way?" I interrupted him.

There was silence on the line for a moment. "Funny that you should ask," he said, impressed. "When he walked out of the facility, he was the same impeccably groomed Edward Masen we both know. During his time inside, though, he favored the Grizzly Adams look. Now we know why. It certainly made him less recognizable to those who had seen him before, and probably facilitated his escape. In any case, the correctional staff noticed nothing unusual. Security footage shows him walking out unchallenged, like any other visitor. He even pauses to chat up some of the female staff on the way out. Funny thing, though, the women he spoke to only have a vague memory of him. They recall speaking to him as he left, but that's about it. Pretty weird, don't you think? I mean, you've seen the guy. He's memorable. I'm a man, and even _I_ find his appearance memorable."

I made a non-committal sound. It fit in perfectly with the other mysteries surrounding him. Witness accounts were often sketchy when it came to Edward, and I was curious as to why.

Jasper continued. "Once he got to the parking lot he hot-wired a car, which was found a few miles away. That's where the trail ends. Forensics is going over the vehicle, but I doubt they'll find anything."

"They won't," I said confidently. "Any security cameras in the area where the car was abandoned?" I added, already knowing the answer. Edward would avoid any place covered by cameras, and if it was unavoidable, he would do everything in his power to keep his face shielded somehow. It was almost impossible to avoid cameras completely in this day and age, but by minimizing his exposure, he could make it harder for us to track him and anticipate his next move.

"No," Jasper replied. "And we got nothing from the surrounding area, or from traffic cams. He must have researched the area carefully in planning his escape, although we pulled up his browsing history and found no evidence of that."

"He used someone else's access," I said absently, my brain busy processing options. "Probably several someones."

"That will take a whole hell of a lot longer to check," Jasper said, sounding aggravated.

"Which was the whole point," I replied, toying with a loose strand of my hair. "The more work he gives us, the longer he has to drop off the grid completely. Start with checking staff access, and work your way back from the day he escaped…" My words petered out as a sense of something began to coalesce in my head. As with almost everything involving Edward, it wasn't something that I could put into words.

"Bella?" Jasper queried when I'd been silent for a moment. "You still there?"

"I hate to say this, Jazz, but I don't think you're going to find him," I blurted out suddenly.

"If this is a prelude to you asking to come back, don't bother," he snapped.

"Jesus, Major, relax; it wasn't," I said defensively, bristling. I lowered my voice, as if someone could hear us. "Remember when I told you that when it comes to Edward, I just know? Well, I know that things are different now. Something changed. Whatever made him bust out, it's big. To him, anyway. He took a huge risk escaping, considering the jail time he is facing if he gets caught, which means he's seriously invested in not going back to prison. He has a compelling reason to stay out. The stakes are a lot higher for him now, and with his smarts…well, compared to him, we have the IQ of carrots. It's going to take dumb luck on our part or a spectacular run of bad luck in his, for us to catch him. Road blocks and 'wanted' posters aren't going to cut it. I doubt good old detective work will either."

Now it was Jasper's turn to fall silent.

"Jazz?" I finally prompted him.

"Bella…" he paused again, and in a flash of insight I figured out exactly what his problem was.

"I knew I shouldn't have told you all that stuff about me and Edward," I said coldly. "You had no problem with my insights before I told you, and now, just because the source of my information is the stuff of science fiction, all of a sudden you don't trust me anymore."

His voice softened. "It's not that I don't trust you, Bella. I'll admit it's taking me a little time to adjust to the things you told me. You have to admit, it is a little 'Twilight Zone' for the average person. But I'll go with it. You haven't steered us wrong yet. I'll have someone check if anyone visited Masen before he split…Hold on a second."

I heard a questioning voice in the background, and then Jasper's muffled reply. Then he was back. "Gotta go, Bella. I'll call you if anything comes up," he said ending the call before I could reply.

Over the next few days, I settled into the house for an extended stay. After my conversation with Jasper, I drove into Saratoga Springs to pick up groceries and any other supplies that I needed. Once I was done, I found myself unwilling to go home right away. On a whim, I stopped in historic Saratoga, and wandered in and out of the quaint shops and boutiques peppering the downtown area, rifling through racks of colorful dresses and straying too long among the musty shelves of a funky second-hand bookstore in which I picked up a few books before stopping at a little bistro for soup and a sandwich. I lingered over a surprisingly decent cup of coffee, watching people stroll by, and then reluctantly started for home.

Twilight had fallen when as I navigated the winding woodland road leading home, tired after a busy but pleasant day. As I passed the entrance leading to the neighboring house, I noticed lights at the end of the long driveway, casting a warm glow through the trees. I might finally get to meet the neighbors, I thought as I continued down the road and turned into our driveway, pulling to a stop in front of the door.

Exhausted, I had just enough energy to unload and put away my groceries before taking a quick shower and falling into to bed. My sleep that night was troubled by surreal and vivid dreams, featuring none other than Edward Masen.

* * *

I awoke late, with another yet another headache, and spent the remainder of that day cleaning the rest of the house, hosing down the outdoor furniture, beating dust out of the cushions, and setting everything up on the porch. Whatever leftover free time I had was spent reading, catching up on TV shows and movies that my formerly busy schedule had prevented me from enjoying or sunning myself out on the dock. In light of the incident with the porch door, I kept my personal weapon close at all times, rather than my FBI-issued Glock. If I had to shoot someone, there would be less paperwork involved. I even took it with me when I wandered the surrounding woods and hills, tucked into the over-sized pocket of Charlie's oilskin, or down the back of my pants, depending on the weather.

Jasper called me at the end of the week to update me, but he didn't have much. What he did have was pretty telling, though. Edward hadn't received any visitors, but he did get a call the day before he escaped, and he'd gotten calls from that same number on a weekly basis in the month prior. Whoever it was, they used a burn phone, and the number could not be traced.

"Shit, this is so _frustrating_!" I moaned, wishing for the umpteenth time that I was back in the city. "If this were a TV show, this would all be going a lot faster."

"I hear you. Unfortunately, in real life, these things take time," Jasper said. "And we can't drop our other cases for this one. The team is doing all they can, but Masen isn't our top priority."

"I know," I said wistfully. "Tell the guys 'hi' from me."

"Bella says 'hi', guys," I heard him say, followed by a chorus of greetings from some of my colleagues at the FBI.

After Jasper had terminated the call, I left the patio and walked down to the end of the dock, plopping myself down and putting my bare feet in the water. I stared sightlessly over the lake, chewing on my thumb and thinking.

It was true that Edward was not the FBI's top priority. Although he was suspected of far greater crimes – nothing anyone could prove, though - he'd been arrested for stealing one ridiculously expensive piece of artwork from one ridiculously wealthy individual. We had cases in which thousands of hardworking, middle-class Americans had been defrauded. Most of us considered those cases more important than catching a guy who has stolen a rich man's toy. Jasper and his team would work the case and give it their everything, but unlike me, they wouldn't obsess over it.

* * *

A second week crawled by, and I grew increasingly jittery. It was subtle at first, manifesting in an inability to focus on anything for very long, and a constant desire to be out of the house doing something. Even when I was just sitting there, I was endlessly bouncing my knee. In order to burn of all that energy, I took to wandering further and further afield when taking my daily walks in the woods. I picked wildflowers for the house and went mushroom hunting, even if though it was the wrong season for them. I took daily swims to the opposite shore of the lake, and even undertook cleaning out the bunkhouse – without Emmett's permission. Nothing seemed to help. Sleep took longer to come everyday, and as a result, my headaches increased in frequency. Both the almost constant dull pain and the sleep deprivation made me cranky.

I made one last attempt to distract myself from my restlessness, deciding one morning after breakfast to spend another day out in the woods. I had found an easily climbable tree with a comfortable branch to sit on and a nice view on one of my outings, and planned to spend most of the day there trying to get out of my head. I loaded up my backpack with snacks, water, the book I was currently reading, the latest NYTimes crossword puzzle, and a light jacket just in case, and prepared to head out. As always these days, my 9mm came with me, tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Leaving the house by the front door, I crossed the road and walked into the woods, climbing up into the hills.

My outing proved to be a fruitless exercise. Despite my attempts, my concentration worsened, and at some point I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me, if perhaps the inability to sleep, the headaches and the restlessness were signs of some physical, or, god forbid, mental ailment. Not even being outdoors was helping anymore, and by mid-afternoon, I gave up, packed up my things, and started for home.

Instead of taking the road when I left the woods, I crossed over it and meandered home by following the lake shore, which took me to the uninhabited house close to ours. Since there seemed to be someone living there now, I thought it best to skirt the property so as not to trespass, but sounds of activity outside made me change my mind. I decided to approach and introduce myself to the neighbors none of us had ever met, and headed toward the house again, stopping as I neared the tree-line.

There was a man working in the garden, hacking at some of the tall weeds that had grown up around the house, with a machete, no less. I watched him covertly for a moment. He was tall and well built, his messy hair gleaming like a dark flame in the sunlight. Wearing a white tank and faded jeans, and of all things a navy bandana hanging out of his back pocket, he looked like he had dropped straight out of a beefcake calendar. I almost snorted out loud at the thought. There was a nagging sense of familiarity about him, but I ignored it and took a step forward to make my presence known.

As I stepped out of the shadows and into the sun, he turned toward me, and time ground to a complete halt, along with my heart. My backpack slipped from between nerveless fingers.

Standing before me was none other than Edward Masen, my elusive prey, object of my obsession for almost ten years; more if you counted the years since the dream. Only, this wasn't the Edward I was familiar with. The Edward I knew had never been anything but elegantly dressed, his clothing exquisitely made, his hair perfectly styled. The Edward I knew looked like he belonged between the pages of GQ, or somewhere on the Riviera. _This _Edward was a whole other animal. The clothes he was wearing were old and worn, and a film of sweat made his pale skin almost sparkle in the sun. Gone was the beautifully coiffed hair I had come to know so well. His hair was wild, longer, and alive with movement in the sunlight. Also absent was his perpetually cocky grin. _This_ Edward had gone preternaturally still as he watched me.

Which brought me to the most startling difference in him. No longer green, the eyes that were currently staring straight into me were a pale amber, the color of sunlight through a jar of honey. This coloring imparted to them a predatory fierceness that made the hairs on my neck stand up. They were the eyes of a bird of prey; sharp, cold, and disdainful.

They also robbed me completely of my powers of movement and speech. Startled by the differences I was seeing in him, I failed to react at all, simply standing there staring, my mouth probably hanging open unattractively. In short, my behavior was not that of a trained professional.

Finally, my brain caught up with reality, and not a moment too soon. A fugitive of the law was standing right in front of me - armed - and all I could do was stand there and gape at him? Reaching behind me, I fumbled for my gun, gripping it firmly with both hands and pointing it at his chest.

"Edward Masen," I said loudly, the volume of my voice hopefully compensating for my lack of stature. "You are under arrest. Again. Drop your weapon, move away from it, and get down on your knees."

It was as if I hadn't spoken. He completely ignored my order and kept staring at me intently. I could see the wheels turning in his head, but to my surprise, had no clue as to what he might be thinking. I had gotten so familiar with him over the years, I almost expected to be able to read his mind.

Then he made the mistake of opening up his mouth. "A furious kitten with a gun," he murmured, the faintest trace of amusement on his face and in his voice, as if he had just made an interesting discovery.

That just pissed me off. Almost without thought, I lowered my arm and squeezed off a round, the bullet thumping into the earth right between his feet. "Don't patronize me, you arrogant ass," I hissed. "Now, do as I say. Put your weapon down."

He didn't flinch. He didn't so much as blink an eye. He just continued to stare at me with calculating intensity.

"I said put the machete _down_ - slowly - and step away from it," I commanded him, my annoyance at his stubborn refusal to comply growing exponentially.

He smiled then, and with a sudden flick of his arm toward the ground, buried the blade a third of the way into the earth, startling me and nearly getting himself shot as a result - basically doing what I asked, but on his own terms. I watched the hilt as it quivered and then looked back up at Edward, who was holding his hands palms out at his sides and still smirking, something I was hoping to rectify very soon.

"_Move_!" I barked, jerking the muzzle of my weapon to my right. He obeyed this time, stepping out of reach of the machete. "Face down on the ground, hands behind your back. Now!"

Sinking effortlessly to his knees, he stretched himself out, his face turned toward the side, and placed his hands in the small of his back. I approached him cautiously, suddenly wondering how the hell I was going to pull this off without cuffs. They were in the glove box of my car, and my phone was charging on the kitchen counter. It's not like I left the house for a jaunt in the wilderness planning on arresting anyone, least of all Edward Masen.

_Improvise, Special Agent Swan_.

I thought quickly. The ridiculous bandana hanging out of his back pocket, twisted it into a rope, would probably do the trick. Once restrained, I could take him to my place and cuff him to the pipes in the downstairs bathroom while I called the local LEOs. Tucking my gun back into my pants, I went down on one knee near his hips and straddled his ass, my foot braced on the other side of him, and grabbed one of his wrists.

One moment I was winding the makeshift restraint around his wrists, and the next I was on my back, my own wrists pinned to the ground beside my head, staring up into Edward's eerie eyes. In one swift move, he had twisted onto his back beneath me, and rolled us until our positions were reversed and he was on top of me, immobilizing my legs with his, his body trapping mine.

He pursed his lips and clicked his tongue three times, slowly shaking his head. "Agent Swan," he chided me, "that was a rookie mistake."

I raised my head from the ground, getting into his face. "That's _Special_ Agent Swan," I spat. "Now let me up."

He pretended to consider my request for a moment. "No...I don't think I will," he said finally, shifting against me. "Not just yet, anyway."

"Mr. Masen," I said, my voice sounding less sure to my ears than I would have liked, "let. Me. _Up_."

Keeping those feral eyes trained on me, he leaned in, his face uncomfortably close to mine. "_No_," he murmured concisely and seductively.

I inhaled though my nose, trying to contain my ever increasing anger and attempting one last time to reason with him. "Detaining someone against their will is considered kidnapping, Mr. Masen. Are you sure you want to go there with a federal agent?" Without warning, I bucked my hips and squirmed, twisting my wrists in the tight confines of his hands, trying to throw him off me, but only succeeded in sliding my hips and breasts against him. His lips parted at the contact and he hissed through clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off me. It was frankly disconcerting. Eventually I just went limp beneath him and waited. There was no point in fighting him; it was his move, and he would make it when he was good and ready.

I couldn't help trying to goad him into action, though. "So, are we going to lie here all day? I have an escaped convict to arrest and arrangements for his transport to make."

Edward started laughing delightedly, and for the first time today, looked human. He was off me and on his feet in a second, holding out his hand to help me up. I refused his help, preparing to rise on my own, but he grabbed my by the upper arm and hauled me to my feet, reaching behind me in the process and taking possession of my gun.

"You're not going to arrest me," he said, still chuckling as he slipped it into the waistband of his jeans.

_The audacity of the man_. "I most definitely am," I said firmly. "In fact, I am going to call for backup right now," I concluded with a smirk of my own, holding up the cell phone I had smoothly lifted from his pocket as he was yanking me to my feet. For a split second I had the pleasure of seeing his composure slip, and then the arrogant assurance was back on his face.

He took a step toward me. "I wouldn't do that if I where you," he warned as I started to dial.

I took a corresponding step back. "Please, do enlighten me," came my sarcastic reply.

"If I go to back to jail, you'll never get answers to your questions," he said quickly.

My fingers stopped moving over the keypad immediately. "What do you mean?" I asked him, startled. "What questions?"

He said nothing, only smirking knowingly at me again, and I had never wanted to shoot someone as much as I wanted to shoot him at that moment. Maybe that is why he took my gun from me. He knew I knew exactly what he was talking about and somehow, he knew he had me exactly where he wanted me. I could tell by the look on his face as clearly as if he had written it down. He had answers to questions I didn't even know to ask yet, and I wouldn't get them if I sent him back to jail.

It struck me with blinding clarity, out of the blue. He was right; I wasn't going to arrest him. Not today, and probably not until I had my answers.

This revelation shocked me to the core. If Jasper or Boss ever found out that I'd had him and let him go, I was finished with the FBI. And they may yet find out anyway. To my surprise, I found I didn't care. At all. Years of work and planning had brought me to this point in my life, and I just couldn't walk away. I would throw away _everything_ in exchange for some answers to the mystery that had plagued me for a large part of my life.

It galled me to give in to him, but there was never a moment of hesitation. "All right," I ground out. "I won't arrest you. Now talk."

"Uh-uh. Not now," he said smugly. "I'm a bit busy. Have dinner with me tomorrow night. We can talk then."

_What?_ "W…where?" I stammered, taken aback by his unexpected and not entirely unwelcome invitation.

"Here," he replied, indicating the house behind him. "I'll cook for you."

"Uh…ok?" I said uncertainly, blinking. I was agreeing to have dinner with a convicted felon. This was surreal, and my brain was still playing catch-up.

"Good. That's settled then. Now can I have my phone back?" He held out his hand expectantly, and I slowly placed his phone in his palm. He put it in his pocket, then handed me my gun. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Bella," he continued softly, using my name for the first time and making it sound like a caress. "I will see you tomorrow. Seven o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

I nodded dumbly, and turned to go, barely remembering to collect my backpack. Stumbling home, I headed straight for my room, barely making it to my bed before falling on it, fully clothed. Though it was very early, I was suddenly more tired than I had ever been in my life - so tired my whole body ached. My last conscious thought, before slipping into a deep sleep, was that the headache that had been plaguing me for days was gone, and there was not a trace of my former restlessness left in me.

I was completely and utterly calm, and though I had no idea why, there was no doubt in my mind it was related to Edward Masen.

* * *

**Note**: I forgot to mention when I initially posted this (I knew it would raise questions), that despite Edward's sudden change in eye color, he is not, in fact, a vampire or any other supernatural creature. Both he and Bella are normal (ok, not _entirely_ normal) human beings. The reason for the sudden change in eyecolor is quite boringly pedestrian, and will be explained in the next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note**: I have decided for various reasons to write Edward in the third person. I just thought I'd let you know, because I know from personal experience that the switch can be a bit jarring when you are unprepared.

Now, on with the story. We finally hear - in a manner of speaking - from Thiefward.

* * *

Edward Masen watched Special Agent Isabella Swan stride confidently into the trees without once turning around to look back at him. His cocky grin faded when he felt the tug of their newly cemented bond for the first time as the distance between them increased, and the strength of it almost buckled his knees. The urge to go after her was so strong, he swayed slightly in the direction she'd disappeared in, and had to force himself to turn his back on her. His fists clenched at his side and his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he grappled with the transformation he knew he was undergoing.

His skin started to prickle. With a hiss, he rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to erase the sense that it didn't entirely belong to him anymore. This would take some getting used to, he thought, reaching for the machete and pulling it out of the ground, trying to ignore the sensation of a thousand ants crawling all over him. At least Isabella was spared these side-effects, not to mention the gnawing sense of incompleteness that he'd been told would plague him until his body grew accustomed to the connection. For her, the effects of the bond would be more subtly felt, that is until she found out the full extent of it. With knowledge would come awareness, and with awareness would come a need for him as great as his now was for her.

They would get used to it, though. Proximity would help. There was no going back now; for better or worse, they belonged together. There would never be anyone else for either of them, no matter how much they might want it.

But they wouldn't though, would they? That was the whole point. Neither of them would ever want anyone else again. He felt it already. He would do _anything_ for her, up to and including murder. He knew with absolute certainty that he would kill for her without a single thought.

Isabella Swan would not take to this knowledge well; he knew her intimately enough to be absolutely sure of that. She would not appreciate being forced by circumstance into a relationship with a man not of her choosing, and she _certainly_ wouldn't appreciate the fact that the man in question had zero respect for the law.

He didn't care much for his lack of choice in the matter either, but between the two of them, he was the lucky one. If their roles were reversed...well, he didn't know if he would have been able to live with it.

He would have to dole out the truth in small, digestible bites. She was so thirsty for answers he could string her along for quite some time on all that he had to tell her. The longer he kept her in the dark, the easier she would be to handle. "Knowledge is power" was a literal truth in their case, and he needed to keep the balance of power firmly tilted in his favor, at least for now.

Edward felt the man coming for several minutes before he appeared. By now he was very familiar with the dark signature of his mentor's mind, and did not acknowledge him in any way as he stopped alongside him, facing the direction Bella had left.

They stood like that, shoulder to shoulder but facing opposite directions, silent for a moment.

"Hunter," Edward finally said flatly, not bothering to look at him, or conceal the ice in his voice.

"Is it done?" the tracker called James Hunter asked in a cigarettes and whiskey-roughened voice.

Edward barely contained a shudder. James Hunter was beyond vile, the black cesspool that was his mind visibly tainting his somewhat coarse handsomeness, twisting them into something rough and ugly. He had an uncontrolled mind, invasive, probing, its touch almost tangible. It made his skin crawl. Edward always felt like he needed a shower after contact with James.

"It's done." Edward turned away, and headed back toward the house. He had yard work to finish, and didn't want to spend a second more in Hunter's presence. Unfortunately for him, Hunter wasn't finished.

"Don't forget, you have to keep her close from now on," James called out to his retreating back. "It'll strengthen your connection. Give you more control. You should make her move in with you; she's going to need watching."

Edward spun around to face him and took two steps forward, lifting the blade of the machete slightly, so that it pointed at James' crotch. "Don't tell me how to handle her," he said coldly. "She's my responsibility." He edged the blade closer. "I've been fully briefed, and I forget _nothing_," he said coldly, seriously toying with the idea of taking off Hunter's head. "Your help isn't needed, or wanted."

James raised his hands placatingly and took a step back. "Relax, man," he said, smirking. "No need to be testy. You're the lucky one," he continued, echoing Edward's earlier thought, much to Edward's annoyance. "You hold the reins. It could just as easily have been her, you know. We're the _same_, man. Cut from the same cloth. Brothers."

Edward stared at James in stony silence, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

Hunter's instincts of self-preservation were very finely honed, and he recognized the instant his life was in danger, not that Masen's face gave anything away. Aside from the twitch, it was set in stone, his eyes flat and dead. Nevertheless, murder might as well have been written all over that face. James' abilities might not be on par with Edward's, but he could easily see the death on Edward's mind.

James had no intention of losing is life, now that it had gotten so interesting. "I'll be going, then," he said. There was no point in tempting Masen into homicide. James let his expression grow threatening. "Don't fuck this up, Masen. You have a job to do. Do it. I'll be keeping tabs." With an unpleasant smile, he turned and headed back up to the road.

Edward listened for the sound of Hunter's retreat, and when his mind faded from perception, he turned back to his work. He needed the distraction. Bella would sleep for at least twelve hours; that gave him plenty of time to finish up outside and then prepare for his evening with her.

* * *

I slept deeply and dreamlessly for thirteen hours, and woke up feeling like a completely new person. There was not a trace left in me of the restlessness, headaches and insomnia that had plagued me for the past two weeks or so. Calm and well-rested, I stretched languorously, letting out a contented sigh.

Slowly, the awareness that something was off, intruded into my peace. My eyes opened and I sat up, frowning. Something was different. I didn't just feel like a new person, I felt like _another_ person, as if the fractured pieces of me had fallen smoothly and seamlessly together forming something completely new.

Another enigma was Edward, an escaped convict, living brazenly a short walk through the woods, apparently completely unconcerned by the fact that I could throw him back in prison at any moment.

And he was expecting me for dinner.

Realization hit like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath out of me. I wasn't _going_ to throw him back in prison at any moment. I could tell myself I would do it as soon as I had my answers until the cows came home, but the truth was I wasn't going to throw him in prison _at all_.

This thought should have horrified me. I should be on the phone right now, calling the police, and then calling Jasper to let him know I had located the gentleman thief - who hadn't been living up to the gentleman part of his moniker at all so far.

And yet, I didn't even consider it for a second. "Oh God," I groaned, flopping back down onto my back and pulling the pillow over my face. "What am I doing?"

This was a very dangerous game I was playing. At the very least, I could lose the job I had worked so hard for. At worst, there could be jail time in my future if I let this go on longer that it already had. And on a more personal note, there was a very real danger I could lose Jasper over this. Permanently. He would never understand my actions; frankly, I wasn't sure I did myself.

I pulled the pillow away from my face and stared at the ceiling, mentally listing the pros and cons of inaction, but not even that could sway me. All the risks seemed worth it if it meant eliminating some of the question marks that littered my life since that dream Edward had barged his way into when I was a child. And besides, he fascinated me. He always had, but that fascination had intensified when I had encountered him stripped of the trappings of civilization, his hair a tangled mess, his eyes...

His eyes. Bright green and human looking when he'd been arrested, they were a golden honey and anything _but_ human now. Obviously contacts, but which of the colors was fake? I'd had a close look when he was on top of me yesterday, and the tawny orbs had looked very real to me. I closed my eyes and saw his face above mine, close enough to see the faintest smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, close enough to see the sunset streaks of copper in his feral eyes and the russet flames in his hair.

Seeing him in my mind's eye, I felt acutely aware of his presence. He was like a low grade hum, thrumming in the back of my brain.

Without conscious thought, I dragged the pads of my fingers up the slope of my breast, letting out a breathy cry as goose bumps erupted in their wake. They grazed my nipple and I sucked in a startled breath, shocked at how sensitive they were. Greedy for more, I trailed my other hand up my ribcage, and brazenly pinched my other nipple, biting back a groan at the answering pulse between my legs. Abandoning subtlety, I palmed my breasts and squeezed, arching into my hands with a strained moan, rubbing my thighs together under the twisted sheets.

Whatever fever had gripped me, it faded as quickly as it had come over me when my stomach growled loudly and Edward's face flickered and winked out of my mind. Stifling a laugh, I sank back against the mattress. The intrusion was hardly surprising; I had eaten very little in the past few days, and was suddenly _really_ hungry. I rolled out of bed, rushing through a quick shower before bouncing downstairs for a much needed breakfast.

Yes, I bounced. I practically danced around the kitchen, pulling out pans and butter and bread. I hummed while frying bacon, hips swaying, greedily eating it barely cooled while I scrambled some eggs, adding a handful of grated cheddar cheese as a fat-filled afterthought. Standing at the window, I ate the cheesy mess straight out of the pan using a piece of lavishly buttered toast, staring into the trees that stood sentinel between us and planning my day.

Once I had consumed every scrap of my breakfast, I licked the butter off my fingers and put the pan in the sink. I was going to spend the day lazing in the sun before getting ready for what was sure to be an interesting and informative evening with Edward. The mere thought of finally getting some answers left me feeling invigorated and very much alive.

It was absolute heaven, lying in the warm sunshine at the end of the dock. Not wanting to move if I didn't have to, I had made several trips to and from the house, arms laden with the stuff I thought I might want or need for my day in the sun. A thick quilt and pillows to lounge on, a towel, bottled water, books, magazines, crossword puzzles, and I was ready to make myself comfortable for the day. When it got too hot, I would simply slide off the edge of the dock and into the cool green waters of the lake for a little while. I settled myself onto my stomach and with a practiced hand, undid the front closure on my bikini top and shrugged out of it, pulling it out from underneath me and setting it aside.

I tried to read, but the escapist novel I had selected couldn't hold my attention for long. A few short pages in, I pushed it away and rolled over onto my back, stretching and then going limp, running my fingers lazily up and down my abdomen.

My contentment didn't last long. For some inexplicable reason, I started feeling uncomfortable about lying there topless. My imagination went into overdrive, picturing all manner of perverts lurking in the trees, or birdwatchers with binoculars on the other side of the lake, watching me instead. This was absurd of course; first of all, I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and secondly, I had never been particularly bothered by the possibility that someone might see me sunbathing topless. Though I wasn't exactly the type to let it all hang out on a public beach, naked boobs were a dime a dozen in this day and age. The possibility that Edward might be watching me did cross my mind, but that didn't particularly bother me either. Quite the contrary, I was a little embarrassed to realize. And yet, I still felt this compulsion to cover myself up. I tried to ignore it, but it grew to the point where I was no longer able enjoy my day, so with an exasperated sigh, I sat up and put my bikini top back on.

* * *

Edward didn't realize just how tense he was until she put her top back on and his muscles let go and relaxed. The possessive rage that boiled up inside him when she rolled over onto her back, exposing her white breasts to the sky took him by surprise. When she started touching her stomach, he was only just able to swallow the angry snarl that rose in tore his throat. The idea that James could be out there somewhere, beyond Edward's range, watching her, leering at her naked breasts...No. He would not tolerate it. He willed her to put her top back on, surprised at how long it took to for her to finally comply. She would be a challenge, that one. He grinned darkly. He was definitely going to enjoy her.

His mind drifted back to the day before. He'd kept himself busy with work around the house, constantly aware of the gnawing discomfort of separation from her. It coiled in his belly, making him feel faintly nauseated. Once he had worked himself into a sweaty mess, he took an ice cold shower and moved on to his studio to paint, working frenetically into the night to distract himself from that unsettled feeling that never left him. Finally, when his skin was practically crawling off his body with the need to be near her, he gave in to the pull and decided to go to her. He made a stop in his bedroom, were he removed a small zippered case from the dresser and tucked it into his back pocket. His lock-picking tools, just in case her doors were locked.

The door to the living area _was_ properly locked this time, which was a relief to him. He didn't entirely trust that "watching" was all Hunter would do. Deftly picking the lock, he let himself into the darkened living room, stopping briefly by the sofa where he had watched her sleeping not so long ago. He picked up the throw, holding it to his face, but her scent had faded from it. Making his way quietly up the stairs, he let himself into her bedroom and moved soundlessly to the foot of her bed to watch her.

She was lying on her side, naked. The sheets had slipped low on her hips and hid her shapely legs from his view. A shaft of moonlight fell across a creamy hip and made it glow like mother of pearl. He imagined running a hand over the silken skin, down to the valley of her waist and around to her pert bottom half exposed by the draped bedding. His eyes drifted closed and in his mind's eye he saw his hand slip beneath the sheets. They shot open again when she stirred and moaned softly in response, rolling over onto her back, her hands coming to rest beside her head on the pillow. The sound went straight to his groin and he hissed at the tightening in his pants. The sheet slipped further, revealing the triangle of dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

Edward inhaled deeply through his nose, wishing he were close enough to breathe her in, wishing his nose was buried in the springy curls between her legs, wishing he could do more than just imagine he was filling his lungs with her scent, wishing he could slide his tongue between her folds and taste, suck, take as much of her into his mouth as he possibly could. Would she smell as sweet and taste as spicy as he thought she would?

She moaned again, louder now, her hips shifting against the sheets, her legs parting slightly. The fingers of one hand twitched and closed as she grasped at the air, then she stilled again. He watched her covetously, hungrily, and debated trying to make her come, but worried it would wake her up. He wasn't ready for that yet, and neither was she. He had the rest of his life to play with her; now was not the time to rock the boat.

He couldn't resist toying with her a little more, though. Moving around to the side of the bed, he sat down, lowering himself carefully to the mattress so as not to jostle her. He could barely make out her features in the penumbra; her face was a pale oval in the sea of her hair, inky black and velvety in the darkness. He could just about see the creases of a small frown on her forehead, and new that even in sleep, she was aware of his presence. She mumbled something intelligible and stirred again.

It was time to leave. He needed to go before her awareness of him woke her, but he couldn't resist reaching for one of her breasts, cupping it gently and running a smooth thumb over the dark nipple. It sprang to life beneath his caressing thumb, puckering into a tight bud. Throwing caution to the wind, he stood, put one knee on the mattress and braced himself with a hand on either side of her. Lowering himself, careful not to put any weight on her, he brushed his nose over the skin of her breast, inhaling the scent of her, and then softly closed his lips around her nipple, circling it with his tongue, creating a gentle suction. She jerked and cried out, and he was up and out of the room so quickly, he could not be sure if he had woken her or not.

He had returned again later the next day, leaning against the outside of the house under her window, unable to stay away yet unwilling to risk going into her room again. She was very close to waking, and he had stayed there like a pathetic love-struck fool, trying to control his aching hunger for her, until he heard her rise and start the shower. Only then did he finally give up his post and head back to his place.

He would be seeing her again soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

I returned from the lakeside in the early evening a pale golden hue to my skin and my nose and cheeks pink with too much sun. half an hour and a shower later I was standing in front of my closet, running a brush trough my hair and trying to decided on something to wear.

I opted for a simple, comfortable outfit. Jeans, a black form-fitting off the shoulder t-shirt with sleeves that almost reached my knuckles, and black velvet chinese slippers. As an afterthought, I tucked my Browning in my waistband at the small of my back, and clipped my hair into a low pony tail. A dab of nude lip gloss and some mascara, and I was ready to go.

As I made my way up the steps to Edward's front door, I noticed it was ajar. When he didn't answer my repeated knocks, I pushed it open slowly, sticking my head in.

"Hello?" I called out, peering into the darkness inside.

Nothing.

I stepped into the cool, silent hallway. "Hello?" I repeated, looking around. "Edward?"

Still no reply. A quick look into the large living room revealed it to be unoccupied. I paused, frowning. He told me not to be late, and now he didn't appear to be here.

Which gave me the perfect opportunity to have a look around.

I may have been under Edward's spell, but I was still an FBI agent, and he an escaped convict. As far as I was concerned, he'd lost his right to privacy when he broke the law. I turned away from the living room and wandered into the kitchen. It was a welcoming room, warm evening light setting the oiled golden wood of the long farmhouse table and polished stone floor aglow.

The table was beautifully set for two at one end. Clearly Edward was accustomed to living the good life - he knew what he was doing when it came to setting a table. I moved down to that end, touching the fine linen napkins and admiring the exquisite plates and clear almost soap bubble-like crystal glassware. The silverware looked - and felt - like real silver. It was a hazard of my job, such interest. I was constantly inspecting the luxury items we seized to further my knowledge and understanding. I returned the fork to its place and turned to the counter. On it was a bowl of salad already prepared, fresh and green and dotted with edible flowers, and when I cracked open the oven on the huge aga, spotted a lasagna just beginning to bubble around the edges. A bottle of Castello di Ama was open and breathing on the sideboard.

It was a homy comfortable scene, and something was off.

Frowning, I scanned the room. This was not the kitchen of a bachelor. It had a feminine feel to it, and there was nothing homy or feminine about Edward Masen.

Crowded on the windowsill above the counter were books, a mixture of cookbooks and paperbacks. On closer inspection, a couple of the paperbacks turned out to be romance novels. Based on the dust on the sill, they had not been touched in some time. This obviously indicated a female presence, which led me to wonder if Edward was occupying the house illegally. Another possibility was that it might belong to a friend. It certainly didn't belong to him, or to any of his known aliases. I made a mental note to do a little digging. I couldn't use the FBI for this without tipping Jasper off, so I would have to wor with whatever was publicly available. The tax records would be a start.

Beyond a narrow passageway was a door leading to a library. Books ranging from new to positively ancient lined the wall to wall bookshelves. I was almost certain a fair number of them were first editions and quite valuable.

Old and comfortable armchairs and sofas occupied most of the rest of the space. Between two of the chairs, a small table with an ongoing chess game waited for its players to return. A fire was laid in the huge stone fireplace, and on the coffee table were a small platter of artfully arranged apple and pear slices, and another of smoked salmon on small triangles of toast, decorated with a dollop of sour cream, caviar, and a sprig of chive. On a side table stood an ice bucket with a bottle of what I assumed was champagne.

I pulled the bottle out, and my eyebrows rose in surprise. Though I had never sampled the contents of the gold bottle with the pewter ace of spades on the front, I was certainly familiar with it. Several cases of it had been part of the assets seized from a rather well known and crooked music mogul. He was currently cooling his heels in jail while his champagne languished in the FBI seizure storage locker, a warehouse containing the goods seized in our raids. Its ties to hip-hop culture made it a surprising choice for one such as Edward Masen.

There were framed photos on the walls and ranged around the room. Pictures of people as attractive as Edward was. A beautiful woman with toffee colored hair, an absurdly handsome blond man with clear blue eyes and patrician features, and a tiny, fey looking young woman with spiky black hair, lost in an oversized sweater, staring into the camera with haunted grey eyes. There were even - and this led to even more questions - a few pictures of a younger looking Edward. Playing the piano, head hung low, eyes closed, or staring moodily out of a window; they all looked like he had been unaware of having his picture taken.

With a look toward the doorway, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and snapped close-ups of the various faces in the pictures, then left the library and went back out into the front hall to check upstairs.

"Anybody home?" I called out tentatively. Again there was no answer. Where the hell was he? Clearly I was expected, so where was my host?

At the end of the long hallway at the top of the stairs, one door stood open, light spilling out into the darkened hallway. I made my way toward it, admiring the exquisite artwork on the walls, every painting signed with the initials EMII, and poking my head around the corner.

I drew a single slow breath and held it, transfixed. Expecting an empty room, I had come face to face with the pale, naked slopes of Edward Masen's bare back. My eyes took in the smallest details of him, from the exquisitely molded planes of ivory flesh, up the steep incline of his shoulders, to the rusty red roots of his tousled titian hair.

It was obvious that the right thing to do was to make my presence known, but I couldn't resist the temptation to observe him while he remained unaware of me, while he was being himself, and not reacting to my presence and trying to manipulate me.

He stood before an old, well-polished easel, the honey-dark wood gleaming with decades of use. To his right, a scuffed table that had clearly been used by a painter for most of its existence, held several mason jars full of varying degrees of dirty liquid sprouting paint brushes, crumpled rags and mutilated tubes of paint, all of it covered in splatters, drips and smudges of color. In the middle of the chaos, incongruous, a balloon glass as clear as a soap bubble, full of a warm amber liquid I assumed was brandy.

I noted all this quickly, Edward being the main draw, the true focus of my interest. A pair of faded and threadbare paint-spattered jeans hung low off his slim hips, and he held an old-fashioned wooden painter's palette in one hand and a brush in the other with which he feverishly applied paint to the canvas that was obscured by his body. The way his body subtly swayed or jittered with the different brushstrokes he used - long and sweeping or small, frenetic and rapid - mesmerized me. Edward painted not just with his hand, but with his whole being, the muscles of his back sliding sinuously beneath creamy-pale skin, his hips and feet shifting in a subtle dance to the music of his inspiration. He appeared sharply focused on the subject of his painting, entwined and at one with it.

Moving silently into the doorway, I tried to catch a glimpse of the painting, but the canvas was fairly small, and was mostly obscured by his body. I caught the occasional flash of dark paint at the borders, but nothing else.

Until he stepped back and bent down to sign the bottom left corner, revealing the finished work.

At first I thought it was just an excellent copy of the Mona Lisa, and wondered if he was planning something illegal, but then I noticed it didn't look quite right. There were differences -

It hit me suddenly, almost physically.

Though he had stayed true to the colors and style of the original, faithfully reproducing Leonardo's technique, it was me he had painted beneath Mona Lisa's demure clothes. Her secret smile graced my lips, and my brown eyes held her knowing look. It was simply stunning.

I inhaled sharply.

At the sound, Edward straightened and turned, his focus swinging sharply on me.

With his white skin and pale amber eyes, he reminded me of an arctic wolf who had been caught unawares on his own territory, unmoving in his frozen awareness. His eyes blazed briefly, startled, wild, ready to defend, then melted into recognition. The transformation was immediate; I watched his conman persona settle about him like a cloak and knew that the real Edward was hidden away from me again.

No longer able to watch him covertly, I decided my eyes needed a break from his. I cast them around the rest of the room, which I had so far ignored in favor of Edward and his immediate surroundings. There were other copies on the walls, some I recognized - Manet's The Luncheon on the Grass, After the Bath by Renoir, and one of Monet's women with a parasol - and some I didn't.

They all had one thing in common: they all contained me, and I was naked in most of them.

"What the hell?" I blurted out.

I looked at the Renoir and heat bloomed on my cheeks, not because of the nudity, but because of the precision with which he had painted me, and the intimacy it implied. Not only in the soft, pensive expression he had put on my face, but the lushness with which he pained my skin. It was luminous. I looked at my own breast rendered in creamy peach and pink tones and almost felt every brush stroke he had applied as if he had placed them directly on my own skin.

The hairs on the nape of my neck and arms stood up and I shuddered, his subsequent intake of breath drawing my attention back to him. He was watching me intently, as if he had just noticed something, and I imagined for one crazy moment he had known what I was thinking.

Uncharacteristically shy and feeling gauche all of a sudden, I dropped my eyes involuntarily and then quickly went back to scanning the walls for something to focus on that didn't contain an image of me.

I found it in a framed bond certificate hanging on the wall among the masters. Frowning, I strode closer, peering at it carefully. "Is that a forgery?" I said sharply.

"No," he lied, his voice coming from right behind me. I shrieked and spun around, finding him inches away from me, standing uncomfortably close.

"Don't sneak up on me," I hissed, taking a step back, and backing into the wall.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding anything but. Our eyes locked, and ages passed before his clear eyes, darkening to whisky with the waning light, dropped to my mouth. His eyes riveted to my lips, he closed the distance I had just put between us. He was so close I could feel the heat coming off him. Never taking his eyes off my mouth, he began to move slowly in.

I didn't even pretend I believed his lie about the certificate being real. "How did you match the colors in the seal?" I asked, a slight tremor in my voice as I tried to press myself into the wall when his body brushed against mine.

He dropped the lie. "I eyeballed it," he murmured, his breath warm on my lips.

Contact. His lips touched mine, tugging first the upper one and then the lower one into a gentle kiss. His fingers ghosted over my hips, sending an electric hum dancing over my skin.

My eyelids fluttered shut. "That's unusual," I stammered against is mouth, acutely aware of his hands moving from my hips to my waist, lightly, carefully, as if he thought I might break, or bolt. "Most forgers specialize only in one or two aspects of..."

Heated lips closed over mine, silencing me. His hands closed firmly around my waist and he pulled me against him, kissing me roughly, devouring me.

For a moment I lost myself in the kiss, melting into him bonelessly; then reason returned in a flood. I put my hands up against his chest, flushing deeply when I encountered soft bare skin over tight muscle and inhaled warm, earthy, male. I pushed fruitlessly, unable to shift him.

"Wait!" I yelped, wriggling out from his grip and slipping out from between him and the wall. "Stop! Just...Wait. I need to think." I was startled and confused, and...and..._distracted_, and I moved away from him, putting the table with his painting paraphernalia between us.

He started walking toward me, stalking me, and I held up a finger. "No! I said firmly, pointing it at him. "_Don't_. Just stay right there."

He stopped obediently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and just watched me.

I took a deep steadying breath. "I don't...We need to talk. I want answers, remember?" I sounded like I was trying to remind myself instead of him.

He continued observing me for a moment, seemingly undecided about something. "Alright," he said finally. "Answers." He nodded. "Would you please wait in the library while I quickly wash up and change? Help yourself to anything you want."

Nodding back, I preceded him out the door and went down the stairs without looking back.

* * *

When he came into the room not more than ten minutes later, he was casually dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck of lightweight cashmere. His hair, damp from a quick shower, had been mostly tamed. He was, somewhat incongruously, barefoot.

"I apologize for not being there to welcome you. I lose track of time when I paint. Please forgive me." He reached for my hand and smoothly brought it up to his lips, turning it to place a kiss on the back of my fingers.

I waited a beat and then slid by hand out of his cool grip, my gaze shifting away from his.

Wordlessly, he pulled the champagne out of the bucket and smoothly eased the cork out with a muffled pop, while I tucked myself in the corner of the sofa facing the fireplace. I watched covertly as he poured a little into the glasses, filling them the rest of the way up when the foam had subsided. Picking up both glasses, he turned to me.

"This isn't the champagne I would have chosen for tonight, but it was all I had. I'm sure you'll find it quite pleasant, though. It has a subtle complexity that I find interesting," he said, handing me one of the flutes in which the pale gold liquid whispered with bubbles rising in delicate swirls. "It has a crisp, delicate floral scent, yet the flavor is earthy, with a hint of a bite and a smooth, long finish."

I stared at him open mouthed as he sat down beside me setting his flute down on the table and picking up a slice of the pear and cheese. The contrast between the barely civilized, half-naked artist upstairs who had practically forced himself on me, and the suave connoisseur of the finer things in life who sat next to me was throwing me for a loop.

"Here," he said seductively, touching the slice to my bottom lip, and running it gently along the length of it, leaving a wet trail of juice, "taste this."

Too dazed to do anything but comply, I darted my tongue out and licked the sweet juice off my lip, then parted them and closed them over the fruit, taking a bite.

"Now take a sip." His voice was almost a whisper as he closed his hand over mine around the stem of my glass, and guided it to my mouth. I swallowed my bite and took in a mouthful of the cold liquid, holding it there, and found it was perfectly complemented by the mild cheese and pear. I took another sip of my champagne while watching his lips close around the rest of the slice he had fed me.

"So," I said, tearing my eyes away from his mouth, "I believe you have some explaining to do."

He was in the process of taking a sip himself, and smiled around the rim of his glass, presumably at my unintentional reference to I Love Lucy, whom I absolutely loathed, by the way. "I suppose I do," he said, fixing me with his unsettling stare. "Where would you like to start?"

I slipped off my shoes and pulled my legs up on the sofa, tucking them under me, getting comfortable for what was sure to be a lengthy conversation. "First of all," I started, that unsettling stare reminding me to get my least important question out of the way, "what is your original eye color?"

He looked surprised that out of everything I could have asked him, I chose that. _Don't you worry_, I thought, _we'll get to the hard stuff soon enough_.

"This is the eye color I was born with," he said, gesturing to his eyes.

"Then why the green contacts?" I inquired with a frown, helping myself to another slice, apple this time.

He crossed his legs and laid his arm along the back of the sofa, bringing his fingers close to my shoulder. "They make me look less...otherworldly. Less noticeable," he said, getting comfortable.

I almost snorted at the idea that he considered himself less noticeable with those bright green eyes I thought were his own. With his impressive height and the tailored suits he was always seen in, not to mention his usually perfectly styled hair, he made a very striking figure. It was true that his uncanny eyes made him much more memorable, though. Which for someone in his line of work, was probably not a good thing.

Satisfied, I let the subject go and got back to my more important questions. It was at that point that I realized that I had no idea where to start, or even how to phrase my queries. After a moment of thought, I asked the first question that popped into my head.

"Why does it feel like I know you?" I asked, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I mean beyond the fact that it's been my life's work to study you in order to catch you. I get the feeling that I...I don't know...that I know you." I paused, deeply dissatisfied with the way I was expressing myself. I couldn't seem to formulate how familiar he seemed to me.

Fortunately for me, he helped me out. Sort of.

"We have a connection," he murmured, looking at me intently.

Was he expecting a reaction? "Tell me something I don't know," I said dryly.

He gave me a crooked grin. "You don't understand..." He leaned forward, suddenly intense, his smile fading. "We have a connection. I'm not talking about what we normally refer to as a connection between people; I'm talking about an actual physical, tangible connection."

I stared at him blankly. "I'm sorry, you'll have to be more specific. I get that we have a connection but...I'm not following you."

He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in the front and appeared to be deep in thought for a moment. "Let me start from the very beginning," he said when he looked at me again. He took my glass from me, his fingers lingering hot on mine for a moment, then he stood and moved to the side table to refresh my champagne. "We're probably going to need more alcohol for this." He handed me my glass and then refilled his as I waited, quaking inwardly, for him to start.

"You and I..." He stopped, then seemed to rethink himself. "We are not your average, run of the mill human beings. We are...genetically different from the rest of the population."

My lips parted, countless questions dancing on the tip of my tongue, but he held up his hand to silence me. "As far as is known, we are two of six individuals, so far, who carry the same genetic mutation, although there are probably more. Three mated pairs..."

"Whoa," I interrupted a bit shrilly, pulling one leg out from under me and putting my foot back on the ground. "What do you mean, three _mated_ pairs?"

Edward had become very still and watchful, as if he thought I might bolt at any moment. As if I would, as if I _could_, now. "That's what I meant by 'connection'. You and I are mated."

I blinked, waiting for his words to start making sense. "What do you mean, exactly, by 'mated'?" My voice was dangerously quiet, and the inward quaking was developing into a full blown panic kept ruthlessly under control. For now. I thought my life had already been thrown into turmoil...I had the feeling that it was about to get infinitely worse. The glass in my hand trembled, and I drained it before putting it down on the coffee table, clasping my hands in my lap to hide the shaking.

His gentleness when he continued was meant to reassure, but for some reason it made me dread his words all the more. I did not like where this seemed to be going. "You know how some animals mate for life? Like wolves?" I had a flash of him when he first noticed my intrusion into his studio, and nodded. "Well, it seems like the human race is poised to make the same evolutionary leap. You and I are among the first. That's one of the prevailing theories, anyway. Some think it's just a genetic glitch."

I opened my mouth, and then closed it. I blinked again. "Are you telling me we are..." I stopped.

"Mated?" he supplied helpfully.

"For _life_?" My voice was shaking. "As in, we have no choice about it?"

"That's about the size of it."

"But...I don't understand," I stammered. "I don't feel mated. How the hell did this happen? And when?"

Edward rose, took a box of matches from the mantle and struck one, dropping to a crouch to in front of the fireplace and setting the crumpled paper beneath the logs ablaze. "We first connected in New York many years ago," he said to the flames. "You were a child, and I wasn't much older."

Huh. Maybe I did see him when I visited with my parents, and that was why I dreamed about him that night. "I don't remember meeting you," I said with a frown.

He moved around the room, lighting candles. "You didn't. At least not in the sense you think." He blew out the match and tossed it into the fire, looking at me. "Our minds did."

This story was getting more outlandish by the second, but I knew absolutely that he was telling me the truth. "Edward..." I was getting angry now. "Please stop being so cryptic and..." I waved my hand helplessly. "Start making sense."

He sat down again, this time turned toward me. "Our minds have compatible signatures," he said seriously. "Think of them as unique puzzle pieces; only pieces that fit will connect. At least that's how they think it happens. When our minds get in range of each other, they click. We 'recognize' each other - he sketched air quotes around the word - and our minds lock on to each other. Permanently. The initial contact can be quite painful."

"I know," I said absently, thinking about my dream, and the headache that followed.

His eyes sharpened. "It sounds like you have something to share too," he said. "Tell me."

"Oh, no. You're the one who is doing the talking right now," I said stiffly. "Continue, please."

"No." His denial was firm and unflinching. "It's your turn to share. Tell me what you remember."

Our eyes locked, and a silent battle of wills ensued, but in the end I couldn't deny him. I told him about the dream, and the headache; I did not tell him about my childhood obsession with him. He nodded throughout the telling, interjecting the occasional sound of agreement as I spoke.

"That makes sense," he said when I had finished."It was painful for me too, though not quite as badly as it was for you, as I had the advantage of being awake when it happened. As a result I think I had more control over it. The fact that you were asleep is also probably why you saw through my eyes during the time our minds were linked. I'm afraid I pushed you out of my head rather roughly, which might have made the pain worse for you. My only excuse is that I was completely unprepared. I had no idea this would happen.

"But now, it's time for dinner." He spoke before I could ask another question, standing andholding his hand out for mine. "We can talk more over coffee."

I gave it to him and stood, allowing him to tuck my hand in the crook of his arm. "Or we could continue our discussion over dinner," I strongly suggested as he escorted me to the kitchen.

"I don't think so," he said amiably, pulled out my chair for me. "A good meal is best enjoyed with light conversation. I would like to enjoy it and you without the shadow of a heavy discussion looming over us. We'll continue after dinner." Not used to having my chairs held for me, I dropped into it with an ungainly plop.

"But..." I started to protest, looking up at him.

"Chianti?" he interrupted smoothly. Not waiting for an answer, he reached for my glass and filled it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note**: Here be lemons. Sort of. (Edited to add: It occurred to me, belatedly, that a trigger warning might be in order. I wasn't sure how to do it without giving anything away, but after getting some advice, let me just say that the following content describes acts that are not strictly consensual. I really hope this warning didn't come too late for some.)

* * *

They kept the conversation light, as he wanted it. It was very enjoyable, watching her try to bring the conversation back to his extraordinary revelations. It turned into a game of verbal sparring over the course of their meal, she trying to find increasingly clever ways to distract into answering her questions, and he always spotting her traps before falling into them, and skillfully deflecting her.

His reasons for being so firm about not discussing their connection were twofold. One, to give her time to assimilate what he'd told her so far, before loading more onto her. And two…well, it all boiled down to control. Taking control had been his way of dealing with his lot in life, and he'd realized early on that he enjoyed it very much. Control over his choices, control over situations and control over other people.

When he'd learned he was inextricably biologically linked to Isabella Swan, he had felt that his right to choose had been taken away from him by circumstance. Although he could - and did - take other women to bed, there was always something missing from the encounter, and it was because of Isabella. He could not walk away from her, and that did not sit well with him. If he was to be thrust into this situation without his consent, _he_ would control it – and her. And he was very well equipped to control her, thanks to their genetic anomaly.

But that would be cheating. Unless it was for her own good – such as when he mentally coerced her into putting her bikini top back on – he did not want to use his power over her to influence her. He wanted her to come to him of her own free will. And so it turned into a game for him, a contest with himself to see how quickly he could charm her into yielding to him.

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass as she slipped a forkful of lasagna between her lips.

As intimately as he felt he knew her, she was still an enigma to him. She had managed to surprise him in his studio, which should not have been possible.

He frowned as he thought more carefully about it. How had he not sensed her draw near? His hearing might fail him when he was engrossed in his work, but he was never so absorbed that he wasn't mentally aware of someone approaching, and given the link between them, that should have been doubly true for her.

It had not been the first time he hadn't sensed her coming, he remembered suddenly. There was that strange moment at his arrest; he'd realized he was going to be arrested moments before it happened, when he sensed the buzz of many minds closing in, but he had been completely unprepared to come face to face with her. He should have been aware of her approach even back then, before their connection had been made permanent and his sense of people had sharpened

It had been jarring to be caught unaware, in a private moment. For a few seconds, before he regained control, he had felt exposed, vulnerable. Threatened. But regain control of the situation he had, and quickly.

He had watched her intently as she took in the paintings on the walls, took in the fact that they all featured her. When her eyes fixed on the Renoir and she recognized the intimacy it implied, her demeanor changed. She looked flustered and very young for a moment and was definitely affected by the thought of that intimacy. The first faint stirrings of arousal dusted her mind with a blush of pink.

Then she saw the bond certificate, and her demeanor changed gear again. Special Agent Swan, the striking, confident woman who had arrested him, was back, and she turned him on like nothing ever had before. _This_ woman presented a challenge to him. The warrior woman sworn to uphold the law, not the blushing virgin she'd been only moments before.

He had only barely registered her words, and hadn't paid attention to his own answers. He'd been behind her before he'd realized he'd moved, wholly focused on her and getting close to her, of touching her feeling her breathing her, making her his in every way. He had homed in on her mouth intent on taking his time, but lost patience immediately and kissed her as if his life depended on consuming her.

Her resistance didn't register at all, until she had slipped out of his grasp. He had followed her mindlessly, without conscious thought, wanting only to get his hands on her again, until she had stopped him in his tracks with sharp words and a pointed finger.

"Edward?"

He blinked and set down his glass, focusing back on her the present. "Yes Bella?" He turned on his mega-watt charm, and smiled at her.

"Are you OK?" Her fork was poised between her plate and her mouth. "You're looking at me funny."

His smile turned into a grin, and he let his desire for her show in his eyes. "Funny is not the word I'd use," he said softly, thinking of his painful erection, hidden from view beneath the table. He reached for the wine and refilled their glasses. "Are you finished?" He indicated her plate with a tilt of his head.

She nodded, and he stood, picking up their plates and taking them to the sink. "Would you like some cheese? I have some Pecorino Romano, a spicy gorgonzola, and a very nice Cacio di Roma that would pair very well with the wine. Or," he turned to her and leaned against the counter, "we could skip the cheese course and move straight to dessert. I've made a fig and Bartlett pear tart topped with egg custard and an apricot glaze."

Her beautiful cherrywood eyes lit up, and her greedy moan went straight to his groin. "Dessert, please," she sighed reverently.

They had their dessert in the library. Edward served the tart with French vanilla bean ice cream and a pear coulis, along with a semi-sweet Tokaji. Bella was very verbal about her appreciation of the meal, and he found the pleasure she took in eating very sexy.

"So," she said when he walked back in with the coffee tray, scraping her plate clean and pausing to suck her fork clean with a hum. "Oh my goodness, Edward…" distracted by the flavor, she moaned appreciatively, "that was the best thing I have ever tasted. You are an exceptional cook, and a wonderful host."

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head in acknowledgement of her compliment. He set the tray down, sat, and poured some espresso into a mocha cup. "Sugar?"

"Not with espresso." She set her plate down on the coffee table and took cup he held out to her.

"So," she repeated, leaning back and making herself comfortable. "Mated."

He leaned back as well. "Yes," he said simply, dropping a lump of brown sugar crystal into his coffee and stirring it.

Her level gaze held his own as she took a sip of her coffee. "That is the most outlandish...absurd thing I have ever heard," she finally said. "You must be aware of how absolutely ridiculous this all sounds."

"But you believe me," he stated simply.

"Yes," she replied, then hedged. "I believe you are telling me what you believe to be the truth."

He was impressed that she made that distinction, but nudged her into looking at what was between them a little closer. "What do _you_ believe, Bella?"

She leaned forward and set her cup on the table, staring pensively into the fire, and he observed her intently as he would if he were going to paint her, memorizing color and texture, light and shadow. The flames painted her bare shoulders with burnished gold and her hair with rich veins of mahogany. Her nose and cheeks were kissed with sunburn. Her expression shifted in the flickering light, and for a brief moment, she was unreadable to him. Her mental signature stuttered back into being almost immediately, but during the brief absence, a pang of loss shot through him, leaving him feeling bereft and confused.

He frowned. As far as he knew, this wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be open to him at all times, now that the link was permanent. Yet for a few endless seconds she'd gone dark, and he had felt as out of control and as frightened as he had been when his parents died and his life ceased to belong to him.

It made him intensely uncomfortable. After a childhood spent mostly in uncertainty, Edward did _not_ like feeling out of control, or afraid. Could that be how she'd managed to sneak up on him earlier? Had she been closed to him then too, and he simply hadn't noticed?

Technically, he should be notifying James of this development, but since he couldn't be certain it had happened more than once, he decided to hold off on that until he was sure it was real. Contact of any kind with James Hunter was something he preferred to avoid.

"Edward?"

He looked at her, finding her eyes, liquid and dark, turned on him, an amused and curious look in them.

"Now you're looking pissed," she said, laughter in her voice. "Is it me?"

_As a matter of fact it is_, he thought, schooling his features and giving her his most charming smile. "Of course not. I apologize for my distraction. You were saying?"

"I said I believe you're right," she repeated. "I can't believe I am saying this, but I do believe what you told me is true. It just explains so much. Why I've felt like I knew you, even when I didn't - when I'd only seen you in my head; why I sometimes seem to know when you are lying, why I sometimes know what you are going to do." She laughed, and there was a faint note of hysteria to it.

This is what he had been waiting for; the moment when it all sank in and became too much for her. Now that it had finally hit her, he could sense she was close to the edge. He knew her inner strength, though. He was confident she could handle it all without his help. But if she needed it, he would be there to intervene. All he could do was wait it out.

He watched her carefully and saw on her face when implications to her life sank in. "It explains _so much_," she repeated, realization making her shake her head. "My ridiculous obsession with apprehending you, the uncanny ability I had that kept me right on your tail, always a step behind, until I finally caught you..."

She dropped her head into her hands, groaning. "My God, what does this mean for my career? I thought I was good at my job, but it turns out my biggest case, the one that made my reputation, was essentially a cheat. No wonder my performance has been lackluster in most of my other cases. I thought I just wasn't as interested in any cases that didn't involve you, but maybe..."

Something seemed to occur to her and she raised her head and looked at him again, her eyes sharp. "I had a really bad time in the days up until I met you," she said, frowning. "I couldn't sleep, I had horrible headaches; I felt like I didn't belong in my own skin. Did that have anything to do with this?"

"It's very likely. It is difficult to say for sure; there are too few of us yet to establish a baseline. What you felt was probably a result of my proximity."

"Did you experience the same symptoms?"

He brushed some lint of his knee. "No. Then again, I've been aware of our connection for some time. You had no idea what was happening to you. I did, and it helped."

"You're lucky," she muttered into her coffee "I thought I was losing my mind".

"Don't be so sure about my luck. I've been in some discomfort myself, since yesterday."

"What happened yesterday?" She reached for the espresso pot and helped herself to more.

"We completed the process we started when we connected in your dream. When you tried to take me down and we got physical yesterday, we cemented the connection, and it became permanent.

"How does that happen? What are your symptoms? Why are you suffering now? And how do you _know_ all this?"

And there it was; the question he didn't want to answer yet: how he knew all this. So he evaded it by answering two of her other questions, the ones he considered the most pertinent to the furthering of his agenda. He captured her gaze with his and held it as he told her. "My symptoms are acute bordering on painful sexual arousal, and I'm suffering now because I want – no, I _need_ to consummate our relationship."

She looked startled, and her mouth opened and closed again. A blush deepened the sunburn on her cheeks. "Uh...that's blunt," she stammered, "but thank you for your candor." Then curiosity brightened her eyes. "Now, when you say, 'need', is that I-just-want-to-get-laid guy talk, or is it some sort of a mating imperative?"

He was tempted to lie to her, but that was not his way. Not in this case, anyway. His pride demanded that she come to him of her own free will, and while he might withhold information to manipulate her, he would not out and out lie. It was one of the self-imposed rules in this game of predator and prey he was playing with her.

"It's a bit of both," he hedged. "If you are asking me if not having sex with you will cause me pain or harm me in some way, the answer is no." He slid closer to her on the sofa, leaning in to her, watching her react to him. His sudden movement made her draw back, inhaling audibly. "But I do want you, Bella," he continued seductively, "you can't begin to imagine how much. I would even if there _wasn't_ this thing between us. I want _all_ of you."

He could sense she was growing uncomfortable, but she did ask the question, and he very much enjoyed discomfiting her.

"I..." she stopped. Looking anywhere but at him, she pulled out her phone, presumably to check the time. "I should go," she said softly. "It's getting late."

Before he could object, she stood, her words coming out in a rush. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Edward. I..." she seemed to remember what the evening had entailed, and that 'lovely" was not exactly the word for some of the things she had learned. "I guess we still have things to talk about. I'll contact you."

His eyebrows drew together in an involuntary scowl. He did not like the way that sounded, like she was telling him to keep away until she was ready to speak to him again. There was no way he was going to allow that.

As she stood and put on her shoes, he could feel her withdrawing, retreating into herself. Her increasingly familiar signature faded then flickered, and for the second time this evening she went dark and he lost his sense of her.

Though again it lasted only a few seconds, he felt unmoored and disconnected. His heart rate skyrocketed. "No!" he said sharply, surging to his feet and startling her into taking a step back. Seeing the apprehension on her face, sensing her confusion, he struggled to push down the burgeoning panic, taking a deep breath and forcing a gentler tone into his voice. "Bella, wait..." He reached for her arm sliding his hand down it until he caught her hand. Her eyes shot from their joined hands to his eyes. "Wait."

"Edward, please," she said quietly, putting a restraining hand on his chest. "You've given me a lot to think about today. I need time. I'm not going anywhere, and we will speak again. I promise. I just...I need time."

She put a very warm hand to his cheek, and then the hand he was holding slipped out of his grasp and she was walking away from him.

Edward was profoundly rattled by the way he had felt when he lost his sense of her. It should not be affecting him so intensely. He didn't understand it, and couldn't control it. And when he wasn't in control, he was a cornered animal. Like a cornered animal, he had to fight. He had to take control back.

His vow not to use his ability to influence her, to seduce her into giving herself to him, was forgotten. She _would not_ walk away from him. She would leave _only_ when he was ready to let her.

He caught her at the door as she was opening it, reaching over her head to slam it shut, turning her to face him.

She showed no fear, either inwardly or outwardly. "Edward, please..." she said gently, trying to pull away. "I can't sleep with you. Not yet. It's..."

He put his fingers to her lips. "Shhh, Bella...I won't pressure you," he lied, doing exactly that. "We don't need to have sex to make each other feel good." He took her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. "Let me make you feel good, Bella," he breathed, watching her pupils dilate. "I can make you feel so good..."

His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, and when he felt her mind yield, he moved in slowly to kiss her. He saw her eyes flutter shut right before his closed, and their lips made contact.

* * *

What started out gentle quickly grew hungry and possessive. He gripped my face, kissing me like his sanity depended on it. Overwhelmed and faintly lightheaded, I gripped his wrists and mumbled wordlessly into his frantic mouth, not sure what I was trying to say, if anything, or if I could even form a coherent thought. It was, on the face of it, a scene very much out of a romance novel, and yet something was off about it. Yes, it made a gnawing ache bloom in my belly; yes, it was made my knees weak and moisture pool between my legs, but it felt _wrong_. How could something that felt so good, so right, also feel so _very_ wrong?

He had made good on his word; he _did_ make me feel good. Better than I ever had before, by myself or with someone else. My pulse was racing, and my mind was reeling, yet underneath it all was fear, and a sinking sense of foreboding.

All my doubts, the foreboding, the fear, the sense of wrongness fled when he slipped a hand around my waist, pulling me against his body making me feel the very prominent, very hard erection pressing into my belly. It was a crude reminder of what he ultimately wanted from me, and I suddenly found wanted him too, almost more than I could bear. Nothing mattered but the way he was making me feel.

The next thing I knew, he had shove me against the door and was holding me there with a hand against my ribcage. His other hand went to the waistband of my jeans and unerringly found the button, deftly popping it open and easing my zipper down. Before I could say a word in either protest or encouragement, he pushed his hand into the opening, into my panties, and between my legs. He cupped my mound with his large hand and slid a finger between my labia, unceremoniously probing me, checking if I was ready for him. I gasped and bucked involuntarily against his hand, just as he pushed two fingers inside me, stretching me, his thumb finding my clitoris. When he scraped his nail across it I cried out loudly, once, my eyes flying to his in surprise. My legs buckled, and I tried to close my thighs over his hand, for reasons I couldn't begin to fathom.

I couldn't look away, or wouldn't; I couldn't be sure anymore. Caught in the amber trap of his eyes, mine stayed riveted to his as he started up a rapid rhythm, fucking me firmly with one hand while he pinned me against the door with the other. Staring into his feral eyes while he masturbated me proved to be too much, and I dropped my head against the door with a thud, my eyelids closing and shutting him out.

"Ah...ah...ahhh..." I started moaning, softly at first, my cries getting louder as the pressure built. I writhed under his restraining hand while he worked me, driving me closer and closer to climax. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he crooked his fingers inside me, hitting what I assumed was my g-spot.

"Come for me, Bella," he demanded, and my insides clenched so violently around his fingers I was stunned into silence. I held my breath and made not a single sound until, after an endless second in limbo hanging on the knife edge, my insides let go again. My orgasm exploded and I let out a sharp cry, gushing all over his hand, moaning helplessly with ever subsequent contraction.

My legs gave out before my climax had completely subsided. I slid down the door, trembling, Edward going down with me, easing me down, sinking gracefully to his knees as I dropped to mine, one of his knees between my legs, his fingers still curling inside me trying to draw out my waning orgasm as long as possible. I slumped forward against his chest, breathing heavily as I thrust my hips slowly and languidly against his hand, finally going still, completely spent.

It was by far the most powerful release I had ever experienced. I could have fallen asleep against his chest right there, except that Edward had other ideas.

It seemed he wanted me to reciprocate. Without giving me time to recover or pulling his fingers out of me, he took my hand and placed it against his crotch. I could feel the outline of his thick, very hard cock, and daring to look him straight in the eyes, gave it an experimental squeeze. He hissed and his fingers twitched inside me, but stayed where they were. The continued invasion stoked the fire in me, and I fumbled with his buttons, eager to reciprocate. I pulled his cock out of his pants and it reared up, almost coming to rest against his stomach.

I stared at it, impressed and also a little daunted. I had no idea what do with it. I mean I had a general idea about the mechanics, but I had no clue about the finer details of pleasing a man with my hand. Before I could ask him to guide me, he had pulled his fingers out of me, hand still wet with my juices, and reached for it himself, stroking himself twice in quick succession.

Emboldened, I pushed my hand into my pants and between my legs, wetting my fingers and then wrapping them around his shaft. My forehead pressed to his chest, I looked down at my hand and stroked him tentatively, but it clearly wasn't enough, because he closed his fist over mine, adjusting my fingers, squeezed, and started to jerk himself off using my hand.

I picked up the rhythm quickly and he let go, his head dropping to my shoulder, his hands touching every part of me he could reach. He was much quieter than I was, pressing clenched, bared teeth into my shoulder, grunting with every upward squeezing stroke of my hand. When I faltered, he raised his head and reached for my chin, turning my face up to his. "Look…look at me," he panted, and my eyes locked with his. "Don't…stop…" His expression was fierce and commanding, and I picked up the pace again, stroking him all the way to release.

Just before he tensed and came with an agonized cry, he clawed at the hem of my top, tugging it above my bare breasts in the nick of time, his hips jerking slightly as he painted my stomach and chest in ribbons of come.

He dropped his head to my shoulder again, and suddenly, inexplicably I came crashing down from my euphoric high. I pulled away from him, staring at my hand and my abdomen, covered in his ejaculate, and felt nothing but shame.

It was the second most erotic experience of my life, and it left me feeling like a whore, used and dirty.

I barely noticed him stand, and then he was back with a damp towel, gently cleaning my chest, stomach and hand. He helped me to my feet and rearranged my clothes, pulling up the jeans that had slipped low on my hips and closing them again.

I avoided looking at him the whole time, though I sensed he wanted me to.

"I'll walk you home," he murmured, and I nodded, waiting by the door until he returned with a flashlight.

The short trip through the trees was made in complete silence, and I let myself in to my house, closing the door behind me without ever having looked at him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Note**: Remember that Bella doesn't know about the mind control thing, so she doesn't know she was basically assaulted. She just knew something felt off about the whole thing.

Also, for those who have been reading since I started posting and don't remember the first few chapters because I posted them so long ago, remember that Bella has slept with two guys so far, and neither time went very well for her. As a result she thinks there's something wrong with her. That plays into it as well.

* * *

Edward had made a tactical error, and he'd known it the second he released his hold on her mind. She'd crashed, hard. Her mind had flared like an overloaded light bulb, burning white, taut as the string of a bow, and then snapped, going dark so suddenly he lost his sense of spatial orientation. He swayed to the side, catching himself with a hand braced on the floor. Shaking his head to clear it, he clambered carefully to his feet and stared down at her, waiting for her to come back as she had before. But she stayed dark to him. She kneeled there at his feet, as blank and two-dimensional as the paintings of her choking the walls upstairs.

Ignoring the now familiar surge of panic, he took care of her first, gently lifting her to her feet, cleaning her up and readjusting her clothes like she was a child. She let him tend to her, standing quietly while he touched the tips of his fingers to her cheek, telling her to wait while he got a flashlight, aching for her to look at him, as if that would somehow bridge the yawning chasm her mental absence had left between them.

He was barely holding himself together. He needed to get her safely home so he could think, and contact James. As distasteful as the idea was, he had no choice, no other options. Hunter was his only available source of information.

There was no doubt now that there was something unusual about him and Bella, or more specifically Bella herself, and it was affecting both of them. He thought he had been told everything there was to know about what they were, yet he had heard nothing about one of a mated pair going dark to the other, let alone that it would disorient the other to the point of panic.

He watched her openly as he walked her home, waiting, but she never did acknowledge him in any way.

When the door closed behind her, he let the panic take him. He dropped to the steps, gasping, his arms wrapped around his midsection, trying in vain to hold the tattered pieces of himself together and bring his heart rate under control. He let out a wheezing laugh at the irony that his ability to influence people didn't extend to himself.

As his breathing slowed, he pulled out his phone, typing a quick message to Hunter. _I need to see you. There's been an unexpected development_.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he lurched to his feet, staggering around the house and coming to a stop beneath her window. He leaned against the wall and slid to the ground with a stifled sob, as confused and frightened as he had been as a child when he'd lost his parents and his life had been thrown into turmoil.

His phone chimed with a two-word reply from James. _Noon tomorrow_.

In just over twelve hours, he would get some answers of his own. Shaking uncontrollably, he pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and dropped his head to his knees, prepared to wait there as long as it took for Isabella Swan to mentally return to him.

Edward felt no remorse for what he had done to her. He was incapable of empathy, and therefore remorse. His regret went no further than that of a child who had broken his toy and therefore couldn't play with it anymore. He had violated the code of conduct he had set in place for himself with regard to her, and they had suffered a setback a result. With no idea what to do about it, he couldn't fight the chill that settled deep in his bones.

And so he waited, trying to calm his frantic mind and make sense of what was happening to him, to them.

Influencing her had been more of a challenge than he'd anticipated. He had sensed her resistance and knew it came from doubt, but could not glean the reason for it. If _only_ he could read her mind. He had pushed gently at her mental barrier, increasing the pressure until he felt her give, a sensation which felt strangely like pushing his thumb though a plastic wrapper: an elastic giving of way, then resistance when maximum stretch had been attained, and then a yielding, soundless pop as he breached her.

She had opened to him completely then, letting him in in an overwhelming rush. Soft and pliable as clay, but still with moments were something, doubts, apprehension…something he could not name, that hardened her, that fought back at him. He'd had to work at keeping it from breaking the hold he had on her. Yet even with all that - or perhaps because of it - it had been the most satisfying experience, sexual or otherwise, of his life - bar none.

A faint vibration at the back of his skull interrupted his whirling thoughts and caused his head to snap up. He held his breath and waited, feeling the awareness of her bleed slowly back into him with the timidity of an anemone emerging out of itself. Her mind was soft and quiet. She was asleep, in that period before dreams, and whatever it was she was doing to shut him out had let go in slumber.

Tension melted out of him and he dropped his head back against the wall, ragged sobs of relief tearing out of his throat, the unfamiliar wetness of tears on his face. The tremors that had been coursing through him in waves slowly faded. The panic ebbed and bled away.

She was back. The missing piece of him was back.

He pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself with a hand to the wall and scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, then slowly walked home. He didn't even make it to his bed; he just stumbled into the living room and dropped face down onto the couch falling almost immediately into a deep, healing sleep.

* * *

I went straight upstairs to my room and dropped fully clothed on my bed, staring at the ceiling for the second time that day. I was still reeling from the encounter, disoriented by the suddenness of it and the violence of the sensations that had accompanied it. It had happened so quickly, both his seduction of me and my giving in to him. One moment I had been explaining to him why I couldn't be intimate with him, and the next I had surrendered, throwing myself wide open to him, letting him do things to me I hadn't ever considered letting anyone do, let alone someone I had just met, someone as shady as he was. It had been intoxicating and disturbing at the same time. It had felt like he was _inside_ me, rough and hungry; not just his fingers, but _him_ too. It had been terrifyingly intimate; wonderfully right, and yet...with that hair-raising thread of wrongness running through it that had caused me to feel fear when I should have been reveling in the experience.

What in the world could have damaged me so, made me literally unable to have a sexual encounter without short-circuiting? I'd grown up surrounded by people in healthy relationships. Sure, I hadn't dated much. I'd been asked a few times, but had been too tied up in my books, my homework, and dreams of the mystery man who had only grown more mysterious with time. Not quite the normal teenage life, then, but nothing to explain why, when I finally was ready to lose my virginity, I had had such a disturbing experience.

Unless...I sat up. Unless it was tied in with the whole mating thing. Maybe that was why it had been so wrong with the others. I had already connected with Edward by then. Was I waiting for him all that time without realizing it? Turning down dates because I knew at a cellular level that they weren't the ones for me, that my right match was out there, waiting?

But then why that nagging sense that something was not right? What was I so afraid of? If being somehow genetically bound to Edward was the reason I'd felt like I couldn't be with anyone else, why hadn't it felt one hundred percent right with him?

I scrambled off the bed and started undressing, getting ready for bed. I would be asking Edward some pointed questions tomorrow, and now that I knew the special sense of him that I had always had was a real thing, he would not find it so easy to deceive me anymore.

* * *

_Good morning starshine, the earth says hello. You twinkle above me, I twinkle be-_

I fought the bedding for my arm, freed it, and fumbled for my phone, hitting the talk button and cutting the ringtone short. "Mom," I rasped.

"_Bella, honey! Did I wake you_?" My mother's voice was cheery as ever, and it brought me another notch out of sleep.

"Mmmm," I grunted, rolling onto my back and tying to blink myself awake.

"_Shouldn't you be up by now? Why aren't you at work_?"

Well, that did it. I pushed myself up on my elbow, yawning. "Renee, I…" I stopped.

"_Is something wrong_?"

_Yes_. "No. I'm taking a little time off work. I'm at the lake house."

There was a pause. "_Did you take time off willingly_?" She knew me too well.

"Not exactly."

"_Oh, sweetie…what happened_?" I could now hear my father in the background now, firing off questions at her. "_Hold on, let me put you on speaker phone. Your father wants to know what's going on_."

After a brief argument as my mother tried to put the phone on speaker with my father interfering by trying to help, my dad's voice came through loud and clear.

"Hi Charlie…" I said, already sounding less groggy. I sat up, arranging the pillows behind me, and settled in for a chat with my parents.

"_I told you not to call me that, young lady_," he said sternly. "_I am your father_."

I smiled at that, feeling a sudden rush of love for them. "Sorry dad," I said, not sounding sorry at all.

"_Yes, I can hear the contrition in your voice, kid_," he deadpanned. "_Now what's this about taking time off unwillingly? Did I understand that correctly_?"

"You did. My boss decided I needed some time off, and gave me no choice."

"_That's nice_," Renee said, "_I know you, you probably needed it. You work too hard and you never think about taking time for yourself_."

If only my father weren't there, we could have left it at that. Unfortunately, being observant was a side effect of being in law enforcement, and being in law enforcement, Charlie knew what a forced vacation usually meant. It didn't, generally, speak well for the person who was being forced into taking a vacation.

"_What happened_?" he asked seriously.

My mother piped in again. "_Charlie, she just told you. Her boss_…"

"_Renee…let her talk_," my dad interrupted firmly. "_Tell me what happened, Bells_."

It was beyond humiliating to have to tell my father that my mediocre job performance was behind my suspension. Because that is what I considered it: a glorified suspension.

I had been a model student, dedicated to fulfilling my goals. I understood what had driven me, _now_, but I couldn't tell my parents that. I had to tell them I didn't know what was wrong with me, but that I was going to take this time to think about things and reconsider my priorities. My explanation didn't entirely satisfy my father, but he accepted it, and after a few more minutes of catching up and a reminder to call my brother occasionally, we ended the call.

When I had disconnected, I pulled up the pictures I had taken of the photos in Edward's library. I would send them to John, the insanely young and talented hacker turned FBI contractor that I had used before both on the job, and occasionally off. My first order of business would be to check the tax records of Edward's place, to see if I could find a name. John could probably manage to get me some info with just the pictures, but names would certainly speed up the process. I tapped out a quick email to him, asking him to call me as soon as he could, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I needed coffee so badly I could practically smell it.

Wait.

I inhaled through my nose. There was a distinct aroma of coffee in the air.

I had my Browning out of the nightstand drawer and was part of the way down the flight of stairs from the attic before I realized I was naked. I was about to go back up for clothes, when I just _knew, _in a dizzying rush, that it was Edward moving around downstairs.

I sat down slowly on one of the steps, familiarizing myself with that sensation of absolute knowledge. I could feel it now, the connection he had told me about the day before, the one that made us more aware of each other than normal people. I didn't know how it worked, or even how to explain my certainty in words, but I knew that the presence I was sensing at the base of my skull was Edward. I was so fascinated by the sensation that I forgot to be annoyed that he had apparently broken into my house.

Standing and heading back upstairs, I pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a tank top and, taking my weapon with me, went down to get myself some coffee and answers.

He had made himself quite at home in my kitchen. Not only had he made espresso - and milk for my capuccino - he had made freshly squeezed orange juice too.

I watched him at the sink, rinsing out the citrus squeezer I wasn't sure we even owned. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt, and was, again, barefoot. One of my dishtowels hung out of his back pocket.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked sharply, hoping to startle him, my weapon pointed at him – finger safely off the trigger.

He turned to me, pulling the dishtowel out of his pocket and drying his hands, ignoring the gun completely. "I figured you would want to talk more. I thought we could do it over breakfast."

"Edward. This…thing…between us does not give you the right to just walk in here. We're not married, hell, we're not even _together_. I told you I would contact you. You can't just…" I frowned, lowering my arm. His face was impassive, more so than usual, and he was a very pale. "Are you all right?  
You don't look well."

"I'm fine," he said, his voice equally impassive. "Orange juice?" He held out a glass.

Tucking the gun in the waistband of my jeans, I took it. "Don't try to distract me with food..." I stopped, my eyes widening, pointing to the dark wrinkled lump on the counter. "Is that a truffle?"

His mouth twitched, and his dull eyes brightened a little. "Yes," he said seriously. "I thought I would make truffled scrambled eggs."

We stared at each other, neither of us talking, or moving. "Well?" I finally said. "Don't let me stop you. You can cook and talk at the same time." I pulled out one of the barstools, keeping the butcher's block between us, and sat, placing my Browning pointedly on the block within easy reach.

This time, his smile broke free, and he turned back to the counter and started preparing our breakfast. "Fire away," he said, carefully scooping equal amounts of milk and foam over espresso in a large cup. He found my cinamon sugar, and sprinkled a dusting over the foam on top, placing the cup in front of me.

I looked at it and then him. "How do you know how I take my coffee in the morning?" I asked him, a faint seed of unease settling in my stomach. "I had it straight yesterday."

He turned away from me, adding a pat of butter to a pan on the stove and turning it on. I could practically see the urge to disemble settle around him. "I have a right to know, Edward," I said firmly, before he could say anything. "I think we're past half-truths and withholding information, don't you?"

He braced himself on the counter and dropped his head with a frustrated sigh, as if struggling with something. Then he straightened, reached for an egg and cracked it into a bowl with one hand, and _finally_ started talking to me openly.

"You've been watched," he said, without looking at me. "You still are. We all are. Those like us, I mean. When one of us is identified, they are watched. Information is collected about them. Medical records, educational records, criminal records, known likes and dislikes...Nothing is off limits. I don't mean someone is following you around every day, though some surveillance of that kind _is_ done. But there is very little they do _not_ know about our lives. We all have extensive dossiers."

I could tell he was telling me the truth. It appeared that I could read his back just as well as his face. "Who?" I said carefully, setting the cup I had been about to sip from down again. The seed of unease bloomed, and I shifted uncomfortably.

He added salt and pepper to the eggs and started beating them with a fork. "Have you heard of Volturi Industries?" He poured the eggs in the pan, started the toaster and turned to me.

I nodded. "Privately held corporate empire run by three brothers, multiple holdings, focusing on Bio-tech development," I rattled off. "Squeaky clean, which is of course highly suspicious for such a huge company. How are they involved?"

"It seems that they are the ones who discovered the genetic anomaly," he turned back to the stove, stirring the eggs. "They are on the cutting edge of medical research, and they can't pass up an opportunity like us. They keep tabs, and approach us eventually, expressing an interest in studying us. They make it almost impossible to refuse. We are paid extremely well if we accept, and we receive the best medical care they have to offer - provided we agree to extensive medical and psychological testing."

This was starting to sound worse by the second. "I see. And is this" - I gestured between us - "them approaching me through you?" My voice had cooled considerably.

He turned around again, looking at me as if he was reading between the lines. "No. Not yet, anyway. Though they will want to meet you eventually." He paused and his expression turned icy. "I don't like it."

_Neither do I_. "Why?"

"I don't trust them." He went back to stirring the eggs, turning the heat off under the pan when he was satisfied with the consistency.

"I can't say I blame you, but is there any particular reason?" I moved next to him when the toast popped up, remembering to tuck the gun in my waistband, and buttered the golden slices while he added a splash of heavy cream to the eggs, stirring them one last time.

"Aro. Aro Volturi," he said darkly, plating the eggs. "His mind is...disturbing."

"Do you know him?" I asked, surprised, watching with interest as he shaved paper-thin slices of truffle over the top of them with a small mandolin that I knew he hadn't found anywhere in this house. "Personally, I mean?"

"Yes...but not very well. I'm not sure anybody really does." It was obvious he didn't want to talk about his relationship - or lack of it - with Aro Volturi, so I let him distract me, accepting the plate of perfectly cooked eggs from him with an appreciative hum and thank you. I had other, more pressing questions, after all.

I never got to ask them. Not right then, anyway. John chose that moment to call me back, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

**Note**: Not to worry. Bella will find out what Edward did eventually, and the shit will hit the fan.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note**: I apologize for the delay. Trying to maintain a biweekly posting schedule equals rushing equals mistakes. I have run into a plot issue that I've had to relegate to the next chapter to give me more time to sort it out.

I think weekly updates are more realistically achievable.

Seth's name has been changed to John. Since Bella grew up in Forks and the people of that world exist in this story - even though they won't appear in it - the name belongs to that world. The character of John needed to be someone unconnected to either the Volturi or the inhabitants of Forks, WA.

* * *

I didn't notice hell breaking loose at first. It happened very gradually and quietly. I was focused on forking eggs into my mouth and engaging in the suggestive but completely meaningless banter John and I always prefaced business with.

John Smith - imagine my surprise when I found out that was his real name - was a gangly, strangely attractive twenty-one year old geek with more money than was good for a young man his age. Also a surprise was that the money had come to him legally - as an inheritance from his grandmother. Jay wasn't into hacking for financial gain - he was a hacker for the sheer love of it. He did it for the thrill of taking risks, and took greater and greater ones every time. And it had eventually gotten him caught, which was how he ended up consulting for the FBI as part of his plea agreement.

It was also how he ended up working for me on the side, when I had needed to dig a little deeper on Edward than was strictly legal. Working outside the law for "a hot law enforcement babe with a big gun" - his words - met all his criteria for thrills and risk-taking, and he developed an unrequited and unreturned crush on me. He was quite open about it and hit on me at every opportunity. Amused and charmed by him, I happily played along. It was comfortable because though he always allowed himself to hope, he knew we were just playing.

As we flirted back and forth, I gradually became aware of a chill in the atmosphere of the room. Tension hummed uncomfortably in the air. I looked up from my plate, and my words petered out.

Edward had come to his feet silently. His arms hung at his sides, his hands hidden by the table. By the way is muscles bunched, I knew they were clenched tightly into fists. He looked...upset, to put it mildly.

"John, I have to go. I need you to give me an email address where I can send you something I need you to check on."

"_I'll set one up and email you the address, Special Agent Georgeous_..."

I interrupted him with my usual line. "John Smith - if that's your real name - you are beyond paranoid. Just give me your damn email address. Any one will do."

"_No way, Special A, not secure. I don't need your people sticking their noses all up in my private biz. And I told you not to use my name. You're supposed to call me J at all times_."

"This isn't Men in Black, Jay." Exasperated, I told him to text me when he had an address set up. Then I disconnected the call, ready to get to the bottom of what had gotten Edward into a snit. "What's up with you?" I asked him evenly.

Sometime while I had not been looking at him, he must have clutched at his hair or something; it was as wild as the look on his face. His eyebrows were pulled together in a fierce scowl, and his feral eyes were blazing down at me from his pale face.

"Who was that?" he asked me quietly, an almost imperceptible tremor in the words.

I didn't need special powers to see that he was angry; anyone could have seen it. But I was the only one who could see _how_ angry he was at that moment. It was obvious he was pissed about John; there was no other possible reason. I just didn't quite understand why. His reaction was extreme.

Taken aback by the intensity of him, I told him the truth, keeping to the basics. "He's a civilian contractor we sometimes use on cases."

I watched him warily, looking for a relaxing of his countenance. He stayed tense.

"Why is he calling you? You're not currently working any cases."

Now I was getting annoyed, but I kept it out of my tone. "That's FBI business," I said blandly, taking my gun and tucking it back in my waistband. Just in case. "I can't discuss any of this with you."

"You're lying to me, Isabella," he said softly, coldly, coming around to my side of the butcher's block, standing close and looking down at me. "Don't."

I came to my feet as well, forced to stand close to him and crane my neck to look up at him. "First of all, I'm not," I returned, matching his tone. Pressing the fingers of one hand into his stomach, I pushed until he took a step back, out of my personal space. "Secondly, don't take that...that...marital tone of voice with me. You seem to forget who I am, and the shaky ground you are on. Remember, I could throw you back in jail anytime."

He would not be distracted.

"Why were you flirting with him?"

I bit back a sound of frustration. "Not that it's any of your business, but that's just the dynamic we fell into. It's just the way we are with each other, and it means absolutely nothing. And before you say anything, you really have no right to be upset about it. My relationships with other people are none of your concern."

He would not veer from the topic. "Don't flirt with him anymore," he said tightly. "I don't like it."

My jaw dropped. "Did you hear what I just said, Edward?" I asked him incredulously.

His expression didn't change. He just stared at me, quaking, obsessing over the subject of John like a wolf worries at a carcass. I wasn't getting through to him.

My irritation ebbed. "Edward," I said calmly. "I think you're taking this whole mate thing a bit too seriously. I just met you. Yes, we have a freaky connection, and I feel like I know you intimately. But do I really? There's a lot, a lot I don't know about you. Then there's the fact that I'm an officer of the law, and you a wanted man. We are completely incompatible."

"And yet, we are for each other, Bella."

I felt the immutability of the sentiment behind the words, and it unsettled me enough to choose to temporarily ignore them. I plowed on. "But most importantly...I don't love you, and I'm not sure I'm capable of intimacy without love. Yesterday..." I stopped.

"It was too soon," he stated, his voice betraying nothing.

"That's an understatement," I said. "And frankly, I don't know if there ever will be a time when I'm ready. What happened last night can't happen again, no matter how much we might want it. It should never have happened in the first place."

Suddenly exhausted, I sat down again, pushing my forgotten breakfast out of the way and pulling my coffee in front of me. I stared at the cinnamon speckled foam and waited for Edward's next move. He stayed for a moment, his attention on me an almost palpable thing. When he moved, I felt its removal, and it left me strangely unmoored for a moment. He cleared our plates and then sat down himself.

Still staring into my coffee, I started talking again. "I won't lie, yesterday was...it was unlike anything I could ever have imagined." I looked up at him finally, his attention still riveted to me. "And yet something didn't feel right. And it isn't the first time having a casual fling has felt wrong." I felt my cheeks heat up, and my eyes slid away from his. It felt odd, having this conversation with him, but given our connection, he had the right to know what he was getting himself into.

His reaction was not what I expected.

"Wait. You're not a virgin?" he said sharply.

My eyes shot to his again. "Are you kidding me?" I laughed incredulously. "What kind of question is that? Most people aren't anymore, at my age. Why would you think that?"

He still stared at me, frowning, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. "I'm beginning to wonder why I think many of the things I'm thinking," he muttered cryptically.

I was just about to ask him what he meant when a few of the puzzle pieces fell into place. It looked like my suspicions on that subject might be correct. "You said we were for each other...would the fact that we are" - I sketched air quotes - "mated make it difficult for me to be with someone other than you?" It would explain so much. And it would really freak me out.

"It should have made it _impossible_," he said darkly, jealously curling around every word. "Who are they?"

I knew exactly whom he was talking about and gave him a look. "Don't be ridiculous, Ed..." I gasped as his hand shot out with the speed of a striking cobra and fastened itself around my wrist. The look on his face chilled my insides. A deep glowering frown hooding an incandescent glare had me pulling my arm toward my chest to break free. I shook with the effort, but he didn't even twitch.

He drew me toward him until my stomach pressed into the edge of the island, and moved his face closer to mine. "Who. Are they?" he repeated, soft, coaxing. Dangerous.

"I told you, my relationships with other people are none of your concern. Their identities are irrelevant." I tried to rotate my wrist our from between his fingers.

It was as if I hadn't spoken. His grip tightened until I winced. "How many were there? Names, Isabella."

I stopped trying to twist my wrist out of his grasp. I'm not even sure he knew I was trying, he was so focused on my face. I looked him dead in the eyes. "Let go of me, Edward," I said firmly. "Let. Go."

It felt like forever before his grip finally loosened enough for me to pull my wrist free. He made me work for it though. "Don't ever do that again," I said coldly, rubbing my wrist. "If you do, I'll punch you in the balls. For the last time, those men, what I do with my life, and who I do it with, are none of your damn business..."

"Everything about you is my business!" he ground out, standing abruptly and coming around the table again, this time pulling me off the stool by the upper arms, forcing me onto my toes, he was gripping me so tightly. "When I said we were for each other, I meant there can never be _anyone_ else for either of us. Wether we like it or not, I'm it for you, and you're it for me."

He let go of me suddenly, taking my chin in his hand and tilting my face up to his, to make sure I was paying attention. His next words made me physically ill. "Your life as you know it is over, Bella," he said with dreadful finality. "You'll never be rid of me." There was a dark promise in his voice as he spoke those last words.

Fear turned my stomach to liquid, "But...but I don't love you," I reiterated weakly.

"I don't love you either," he said with a shrug, cupping my cheek now, rubbing away a tear I had no idea I'd shed with his thumb. "Maybe it'll come some day. It doesn't matter right now. What we could have is so much bigger than that. You don't need to worry about intimacy feeling wrong with me again. It was wrong with those men" - ice crept into his words again - "because we had already connected. You would have known instinctively that they were wrong for you. That won't be the case with us. It will be absolutely right between us. I pushed you last night, and it made you uncomfortable. I won't make that mistake again."

Despite the fact that beyond the undeniable attraction I felt no affection for him, his nonchalance, his casual disregard of love, hurt. He sounded like he didn't care either way. It sounded like the concept of love was foreign to him. And yet he was possessive and jealous in the extreme. So strange.

_He's a sociopath, Bella_.

Jasper's words had been hovering on the edge of consciousness since I realized I wasn't getting through to Edward. Now they blazed in the forefront of my mind.

I remembered Jasper's verdict, after he had extensively interviewed Edward and updated his profile.

"Antisocial Personality Disorder." He had slapped the file down in front of me, and dropped into the seat facing my desk. "It's characterized by a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others that begins in childhood or early adolescence and continues into adulthood. Fits him perfectly."

I had picked up the folder and leafed through it, coming back to the page summarizing Edward's profile.

"...callous disregard for the feelings of others...gross and persistent attitude of irresponsibility and disregard for social norms and rules...low tolerance for frustration...low threshold for discharge of aggression...potential for violence..."

I remembered how dispassionately I had read Jasper's professional summation of Edward's personality.

I could no longer be dispassionate about it now.

He might have completely accepted our fate and decided for the both of us that we were destined to be a couple of sorts, that love was just an afterthought and that a mind-blowing physical relationship was enough to sustain us, but I was not so sure. I didn't want to accept that I had no choice, not without getting a lot more information about what it was exactly that he and I where.

Unlike him, I _did_ care about love. I wanted to fall in love with someone decent, kind and caring, someone who loved me back, not be bound by some biological imperative to an unrepentant criminal with a short fuse and an inability to comprehend that someone might have their own opinions about what is right or wrong for them, and their own choices to make.

His hand slid from my cheek to my neck and around the back, fingers slipping into my hair at my nape, tangling, closing slowly to a fist, pulling tightly, tipping my head back a fraction. Holding me in place. "Don't fight it, Bella," he crooned, his soothing tone at odds with the iron grip he had on me. He took a step closer, dipping his head. "Just accept it, give in to it...you'll see how right it is..."

I could feel his breath heat up my lips, and spoke up just before his mouth touched mine. "Edward, stop," I said, surprised at how strong and steady my voice sounded.

He released me instantly and took a step back.

I took a deep breath. "I'm not ready to accept any of this yet. I still have too many questions."

He had the nervous energy of a caged mountain lion. I could feel him itching to coerce me into seeing things his way, but he held back.

"I won't touch you," he said, holding up placating hands, "but let me give you a taste of what is possible between us. I promise I won't lay a finger on you. Just look me in the eyes, let any resistance dissolve, and _feel_. I promise you, it will be very different from last night.

He seemed very certain, and he had my attention. After only the briefest of hesitations, I nodded my acceptance and looked into his unsettling eyes.

There was no fanfare, no fireworks, no passion. Just the gentle blossoming of a quiet, unwavering sense of oneness with him, of absolute belonging. No matter who he was, he was for me. And I was for him. It made sense now, and this time it felt right, all the way down to the marrow of my bones.

"Are you ready for more?" he asked me softly, his eyes darkening, the ghost of a self satisfied smirk on his lips.

I nodded, entranced. Hooked. If it could get even remotely better than this, I wanted to experience it.

His eyes flashed, sharpened. I inhaled when a pinpoint of heat winked into being, seemingly out of nowhere, low in my belly. It wavered, stuttered, and then strengthened. I felt the jolt between my legs and jerked when it burst into a small flame.

"Do you feel that?" he breathed

A barely audible squeak was my only assent.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?" he said with mock seriousness. "I will have to try harder to impress you."

Without so much as moving a muscle, he did. I let out a sharp cry. Lust speared through me so suddenly, my knees buckled. His hands shot out, catching my arms, dragging me back upright, holding on just long enough to steady me. Then he let go again, watching me carefully as I wobbled once, and then found my balance again. The rapidly increasing tension in my belly was making it harder to keep my legs steady. They were starting to shake with the strain. I swiped out a hand, reaching for him, but he took a step back.

He was actually going to make me climax right there, standing unsupported on trembling legs, without laying so much as a finger on me.

I was seconds away from begging, and only seconds more from an orgasm that would have far surpassed yesterday's, when he abruptly cut me off.

The loss of that sense of oneness was actually more jarring than the aborted orgasm. Like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been severed, I dropped bonelessly to my knees and forward onto my hands, disoriented. For the second time in two days, I was on my knees in front of Edward Masen. Only this time, there hadn't been even a whiff of wrongness I'd felt yesterday. That is until he'd severed the connection, leaving me wanting both physically and mentally. That was not cool.

He squatted in front of me and cupped my chin, lifting me upright, turning my face up to his. "That's only a taste of what is possible between us, and _only I_ can do this to you," he murmured in tones of velvet satisfaction. "To you, and no one else. Because we are mated. Now...did _any_ of that feel wrong to you?

"You didn't...finish...me off," I snarked, breathing heavily. "That feels wrong...in so many ways."

He laughed softly, chucking me on the chin. "Why should I reward you when you refuse to commit to me?"

I got serious fast. "What do you mean, commit?" I asked warily, allowing him to help me to my feet. "When did commitment suddenly come into play?"

"I'm not talking about anything so meaningless as a verbal promise or a pointless social ritual," he said, clearing the remains of our breakfast off the table. While his back was turned, I braced myself against the island, squeezing my thighs together, trying to ease the ache he had left me with. "I need you to let go of your resistance to the idea of us, that's all." He turned back to look at me. "I'll feel it when you do. Until you do, that taste is the last thing you'll get from me. Because it won't feel completely right until you embrace it."

That actually helped to kill my buzz. I didn't much care for ultimatums, even if they did make sense. "That's fine by me," I said, straightening. "I need to find out a lot more about our condition and live with the idea a little before making any life-changing decisions. I have a feeling there is still _a lot_ I don't know." I gave him a pointed look and we stared at each other, taking the other's measure.

Edward was the first to break the staring match. He looked at his watch. "I have to go," he said abruptly. "I'm meeting someone who's going to give me some answers, if I have to beat them out of him." The words were spoken casually, the way many people said things they didn't really mean, yet I felt the absolute truth of them.

"Wait!" I reached for his arm. "I'm going with you. We're in this together, and I want answers too"

He turned on me. "No." His tone was absolutely final, and I knew immediately that there would be no swaying him. I didn't bother arguing.

This was where my uncanny ability to know him came in handy. If this were anyone else, I wouldn't have taken no for an answer. With Edward, I knew instinctively not to waste a single breath. I would be no match for him if I chose to push the issue. He would be forced to push back, and I knew without a doubt that he would physically restrain me to keep me from following him if it were the only recourse left to him. No...I would have to come at him on a more level playing field, and try to outwit him.

Edward hadn't even waited for my reaction after his unequivocal no. His word apparently final, he had turned and walked out of the kitchen without a backward glance at me.

I didn't waste any time getting mad. I had other options. When I heard the front door close, I quickly put my primary and back-up plans in motion. One way or the other, I would be there when Edward met his contact. One way or the other, I would get some more answers too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Note**: Yes, I know. I lied. Sorry. I had a lot of trouble with this one, and I'm still not satisfied. I'm also fed up of not being satisfied, so here it is, warts and all. And yes, Edward is still a huge ass.

* * *

I was going to follow him. Since it was highly unlikely that he wouldn't notice a tail, I'd have to do it from a distance - as in, out of sight. That was where Jay came in. Pulling out my phone, I turned it to silent, then texted him to tell him not to call me on my cell, but to track it instead, and keep me posted via my emergency cell - a cheap, prepaid phone I kept as a backup.

Now for the difficult part. I needed to plant it on Edward. I dashed into the hallway and pulled on my boots, flying out of the house without shutting the door, and through the woods to his driveway. If his car was unlocked, easy; I would hide it in there. If not, I'd have to plant it on his person somehow.

Luck was on my side. I opened the passenger side door just as Edward came out of his house shrugging on a leather jacket and pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. He wasn't surprised to see me there, grinning as if he knew something I didn't.

"You're not coming with me, Bella," he said, slipping the mirrored aviator shades over his wolf's eyes.

I discretely drop my phone into the pocket in the door, and then shut it.

"No, I'm not," I said nonchalantly, grinning like I knew something he didn't. "No green contacts today?" I asked saying the first thing that popped into my mind to change the subject.

He crossed his arms on the top of the car and pulled his shades down his nose a fraction, shooting me a speculative look over the rims. "That character has played itself out. I won't be using them anymore. Besides, I'm not going out in public today."

"Ah," I said casually. "Someone's residence then. In an out of the way place?"

He raised an eyebrow at my unsubtle fishing, and pushed his glasses back into place, hiding his eyes from view again. With nothing but a flash of teeth at me, he opened the driver's side door and got in.

Oh, how I was looking forward to seeing that grin wiped off his face when I gate-crashed his party. I stood back as he started the car and pulled around to head up the driveway. As he passed by me, I gave him a bright smile and a wave, turning on my heels and high-tailing it back home the minute he disappeared from view. I took the stairs all the way up to my bedroom two at a time, and pulled my go bag out from under my bed. It wasn't until I was tearing through it looking for my backup phone that I realize the happy grin I had been sporting since coming up with my plan to tail him was still on my face. It faded slowly as I sat back on my heels, the cell phone in my hand, pondering the implications of my elevated mood.

I hadn't felt this elated and alive since the final months before we arrested Edward, when I was pitting my wits against his and reveling in the thrill of the hunt. Without realizing it, I had come full circle. I was on a case again - a slightly different case now, and one unsanctioned by the FBI, but still, it was a case, and it involved Edward.

Investigating Edward Masen, the not so gentlemanly thief was my favorite activity in the world. God, I was such a junkie. But at least this time, I understood _why_. And as unsettling as it all was, there was comfort in knowing. There was a reason I had so relentlessly and obsessively pursued Edward - was still pursuing him, evidently - and it wasn't because I was a cop and he was a crook. That was just a side-effect of who he was to me.

I also understood that I was standing at a personal crossroad. As sure as I was sitting there breathing, I knew that if I went down this path today, there would be no turning back. My life as I knew it, already irrevocably changed, would be over.

Who was I kidding? It already was over. There never had been any chance of turning back. Our fate was sealed the moment his mind had found mine that night in New York, so long ago.

Wasting no more time and ignoring the momentous weight of these revelations, I said a silent goodbye to my career as an FBI agent, and went downstairs again, powering up the phone on the way and dialing Jay.

He was already tracking Edward. Wasting no time, I gave him my backup cell number and ended the call, threw a denim jacket over my tank, grabbed my key, and headed out to the car and got in, slinging my messenger bag on the floor and setting my weapon on the passenger seat. Eager to get going, I stuck the key in the ignition and turned it.

_Click_. Nothing.

I tried again.

_Click_. Nothing.

The hot burst of anger I felt at having been tricked was short lived, and I let my head roll back, laughing. I had forgotten that just as I had an uncanny ability to know him, he had the same advantage over me. Edward had obviously known I would follow him, and had disabled my car on the way out, practically under my nose. That's probably why he'd been so unconcerned when he'd found me standing by the passenger door of his car.

Well, that's why there were backup plans. I still had an ace up my sleeve. Well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. That old rust bucket could hardly be called an ace, but it might just give me the winning hand anyway.

My cell phone rang and I picked up before the first ring ended.

"_So, who exactly are we tracking_?"

"An escaped convict," I said, shouldering my bag as I got out of the car and let myself back in to the house.

"_Really_?"

"No," I lied. "Just a little surveillance...dammit, where is it?" I rummaged through the hall table drawer, finally finding the garage door opener. "I couldn't outright follow they guy, so I had to improvise."

A silence on the line, then: "_That is so hot_."

"Down, boy." I pointed the remote at the garage door and clicked, the door squealed open, revealing an ancient, battered Chevy pick-up, once a vibrant cherry red, now a faded orange. "Hey, Jay? This is...uh...off the books, so to speak. Not a word to _anyone_, especially the feds, and least of all SA Whitlock. If he even gets a hint that something is going on, he'll extract every last bit of info out of you before you even realize you've blabbed."

The truck door groaned as I opened it and clambered up into the cab. "I'm going to put you on loudspeaker. Hang on." I set the phone to loudspeaker, tucked it in my breast pocket and tried to start the engine.

"_For the future mother of my children, I can keep a secret. Sounds like you're having problems_," he said as the engine failed to start yet again. It roared to life on the third attempt, belching out a cloud of black exhaust and cutting Jay off.

"_What the hell is that_?" he asked incredulously. "_No wonder you couldn't outright follow the guy. He'd hear you coming a mile off_."

The throaty rumble of the ancient engine would make sneaking up on anyone impossible, but I had no intention of doing any sneaking. I had no reason to, being just as entitled to answers as Edward was. We were in this together, and I wasn't going to let him keep me in the dark anymore.

"Funny," I dead-panned, shifting into gear and carefully pulling the massive beast out of the garage. "Now let's get this show on the road before he gets too far ahead of me."

"_I wouldn't worry about that. He hasn't moved in about five minutes. Maybe he's reached his destination_?"

I frowned. "That was quick. Where is he?"

"_On the other side of the lake from you. Like, almost exactly across_."

I stamped on the breaks at the end of the driveway. "What?" I yelped. There was only one house almost directly across from me. What the hell was Edward doing there? "Jay, could you do me a favor?"

"_I already am, Special A, so what's one more? Hit me_."

"I need you to dig up the basics on the owners of that house. And while you're at it, the house next to mine as well." I rattled off the address as I pulled onto the road, taking the shortest route around the lake to Edward's location. "I'll also have some pictures to send you as soon as I get my phone back. Photos of a man and two women. I'll need to know who they are. Just the basics for now. Until I know what we are dealing with, I don't want you to take unnecessary risks."

"_Is this dangerous, what we're doing_?" he asked, sounding way too excited about the possibility.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. I just…something is off about all this, and I just think it's better to be safe than sorry. For now."

"_I'll get right on it. You'll tell me what this is all about someday, won't you_?"

"If I can, Jay," I replied, sighing. "If I can. Use this number to communicate with me, or my email, until further notice, OK?"

"_I'll be in touch as soon as I have something_," he said. "_Later, baby_."

I ended the call, and tucked the phone back in my pocket. Gripping the wheel firmly in both hands, I pulled out onto the road, taking the shortest route around the lake and headed determinedly toward Edward's current location.

* * *

James was already on the front porch, sitting in an Adirondack chair and waiting for him when Edward pulled up in front of the house.

"Masen!" he said jovially, when Edward got out of the car.

Edward nodded curtly, leaving his shades on. "Hunter."

"Beer?"

Edward looked at the Budweiser in Hunter's hand, and almost curled his lip in distaste. "No, thank you," he said. Budweiser may appeal to Hunter's uneducated palate, but Edward had more refined tastes, and they didn't generally include mass-produced beer.

James shrugged, and downed the rest of his beer, drinking so quickly, some of it escaped the corner of his mouth. "Your loss," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm having another. Victoria!" he yelled, setting the empty down on the ground.

The door opened, and Hunter's mate walked out, barely sparing Edward a glance before looking at James.

Victoria was a beautiful woman; a tall redhead with skin the color of cream, and wide, deceptively innocent, doll-like blue eyes. She was impeccably put together; her rust colored curls gleamed like they had been varnished, and her clothes were more appropriate for a night on the town than a glorified stakeout at a lakeshore house.

This was the first time Edward was able to observe a mated pair interacting. He knew of Victoria's existence, but had never met her before, so he'd never had the opportunity to experience the bond as an observer. He took full advantage of it, observing them closely.

The connection between them was palpable. He sensed no affection between them; there was only passion, possessiveness, and need. They were together because they had no choice. They were for each other, just like he and Bella were.

James stood, pulling her against his body, taking the kiss she willingly gave him. "Get me another beer," he said softly, slapping her on the ass, not so softly. Their eyes never left each other's the entire time. They repeated their display when she brought him his beer, then she disappeared again, without once acknowledging Edward's existence. It was if he wasn't even there.

Edward leaned against the railing of the porch, watching Hunter from behind his mirrored shades. "It seems there is a great deal I haven't been told," he started, finally pulling off his glasses and fixing James with a blank stare.

James joined him at the railing. "Such as?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Why don't _you_ tell me what you've left out?"

"Don't play games with me, Masen." He grinned unpleasantly. "I'm there to answer your questions, help you adapt to being mated, and report back to the powers that be. You said there had been a development…you know they are going to want to hear about it, so spit it out. Then, if you have any actual questions, I'll answer them."

Not for the last time, Edward was tempted to end James Hunter's life. He had never killed before, but he would gladly make an exception for this scum, and he had a feeling that day would come eventually. He and Hunter were destined to have a violent confrontation, during which one of them would die. Unfortunately, that day wasn't today. He still needed him, and he had no choice but to give him a full report on what had transpired between him and Bella.

Reluctantly, he filled James in on her apparent ability to completely shut him out for brief periods of time. Not wanting to appear weak to James, he dramatically downplayed the effect it had had on him.

By the look on Hunter's face, he was as surprised by this development as Edward had been, which told Edward that this wasn't a normal state of affairs between mates.

"Have you heard of anything like this before?" Edward finally asked, when James continued to keep silent.

As Edward waited for an answer, he saw Hunter's surprise morph into something that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. His interest in Bella had just turned personal. She had gone from an extension of Edward to an individual worthy of his interest.

"No…" he said pensively, staring intently at Edward but with his mind clearly elsewhere. "No. None of the rest of us have ever experienced anything like that, neither on the giving nor receiving end. You say this has happened several times?

"At least. The last time she shut me out for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. She only let go when she finally fell asleep."

"Fascinating." Hunter's soft tone was almost a caress. He was thinking about Bella, and to Edward, it felt like an invasion of his personal space – Bella being an integral part of that space. "Have to tried controlling her actions yet?" Hunter's tone was too casual, and his curiosity was anything but idle. It carried a definite purpose.

"I have," Edward replied, watching him more closely than ever, trying to figure out what that purpose might be "Twice. The first time didn't go so well."

"What happened?"

"It upset her. She sensed something was off."

"So?"

"Unlike you, James, I derive far more satisfaction from having my mate come to me of her own free will. There is far greater skill in subtly influencing her – with words and actions only - than in using brute force and mind control to gain her compliance."

"Hey, whatever floats your boat, man," he said, the nonchalance of his words belied by the razor-sharp interest coloring his mind. "What about the second time you tried?"

"Nothing. She resisted my attempts." He thought back to when he tried to force Bella into giving him the names of the men she'd been with.

James' mind was now humming with interest, laced with…covetousness? He leaned forward, frowning in thought, his eyes sharp on Edward's face. "Does she know that you have the ability to mentally control her?"

"Not yet."

He leaned back again. "Very intriguing. Once they are aware that the ability exists, once they recognize what to look for, it is possible for them to resist with varying degrees of success. What were you trying to get her to do?"

"Give me the names of her past lovers."

James almost choked on his beer. "She's had _lovers_?"

Edward nodded. "That was the other thing I was going to ask you about. I was under the impression that because of our bond she wouldn't even _want_ to attempt a physical relationship with someone that wasn't me."

James didn't even try to hide his avid curiosity anymore. "That's right. She _shouldn't_ have wanted to. She must be a particularly strong-willed individual to have overcome her instincts like that. That could also be why she was able to deny you."

Edward couldn't have ignored the warning bells if he wanted to now. James' interest in Bella, vague and out of focus at first, had sharpened into something more. Edward could not only sense it in the tones of his mind, but read it on his face as well. He was tempted by the challenge she presented; by what apparently made her different from the rest of them. James was fixating on her right before Edward's very eyes, and he knew that Edward had noticed.

Edward didn't know exactly what it meant for them, but he knew it did not bode well. All he knew for sure was that he was going to have to fight that much harder to protect what was his, and that James must _never_ meet her in person, up close. There was no doubt James had seen pictures of her, and had watched her from a distance too, but Edward new instinctively that meeting her would change things. It would only fan the flames of his interest that much more.

James had just become a huge problem for him, and a threat to him and Bella. The atmosphere between them chilled suddenly, and they both tensed, like animals preparing for the need to attack and defend.

Before anything could happen, the sound of a vehicle approaching had both men straightening, looking toward the road and waiting tensely for it to pass by. When the car slowed, sounding like it was about to turn down the winding driveway, James indicated that Edward should go into the house with a jerk of his head. They moved quickly, like men experienced in the art of evasion, and Edward was about to disappear indoors when he recognized the mind in the approaching vehicle and froze.

_Bella_!

Every cell in his body screamed, and he turned abruptly in the doorway, icy fear slithering through his belly, watched in helpless anger as a dilapidated pick-up emerged from the trees, pulling up next to his car. That which he had most feared was about to happen: James was going to meet Bella, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. The now familiar feeling of not being in control that he all too often experienced around his mate reared its ugly head again when she stepped down from the cab, her eyes fixed on his.

Her baggy sweats and shapeless denim jacket hid the body that belonged to him from view, but one look at James' face told him it didn't matter. James wasn't reacting to her body; he was reacting to her mind. James might not have half his skill at reading others, but what he saw in Bella was enough to enslave him.

Edward witnessed the exact moment James's interest turned to fixation and his hackles rose. "The incomparable Agent Swan," James said softly, his eyes and attention fixed unwaveringly on her.

Bella, the foolish, oblivious child, didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "You have me at a disadvantage," she said with a smile, walking confidently toward him holding out her hand to shake his.

Suddenly spurred into action, Edward moved in front of her to cut off Hunter's view of her, and to prevent her from touching him in any way. "What are you doing here?" Edward asked curtly, hating that his voice sounded a little unsteady.

Stopping short, she looked up at him curiously. "I'm here for the same reason you are," she said calmly, speaking to him as if he were a five year old. "Answers. I don't seem to be getting many from you, and from what you said, you have some questions of your own anyway. Having me here to hear the answers will save you from having to repeat everything."

When she tried to move around him, his arm shot out without him even think about it, his hand fastening around her arm. "Go home, Bella," he ground out, starting to lead her forcibly back to her truck.

She jerked her arm out of his grip and she rounded on him. "I'm getting a little tired of being manhandled by you, Edward," she hissed quietly, poking him in the chest with her finger. "I want…"

Edward had had a trying few months. Nothing with regard to Bella had gone as he had expected. She had defied all his expectations, she had defied him, and she had, simply by existing, threatened the order of his life, and his control over it. And now, she had put herself in James' path, and seemed to be determined to attract and keep his attention, though she had not yet realized she was doing it, or what it entailed.

He snapped. A detached part of him noted that "seeing red" wasn't just an expression; it was quite literal. Through a red haze, he saw her bite off her words, and her face go slack with fear. She took a step back, but it was too late. His hands fastened around her biceps, practically lifting her off the ground so she had to stumble on her toes as he bore her back against his car, practically slamming her into it and pinning her there. He barely registered her cry of pain as he pushed his face close to hers. "Bella," he said coldly, forcing every ounce of the formidable will at his disposal to get her to comply. "Get. Into. The car. _Now_."

For a split second, he thought she would do as she was told. Then the fear on her face melted into determination, quickly morphing into blinding rage.

He was about to order her to leave again, when the fires of absolute agony exploded in his crotch. With a strangled cry, he let go of her and dropped to the ground, writhing in the worst pain he had ever felt in his entire life.

His mate, his fucking _mate_, had caught him completely off guard and kneed him in the balls.


End file.
